


Yurio Off Ice

by silvershrubbery



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Time, Fluff, Gay as hell, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvershrubbery/pseuds/silvershrubbery
Summary: "'I called Yakov. It looks like I’ll be back in Russia for at least a few months to train, and my former rink here is closed now. I needed a new one,' Otabek explained.'Wait,' Yuri said with furrowed eyebrows, 'do you mean that you’re…?' He couldn’t finish his question. If he was wrong in his assumptions, he’d sound like a moron.'Yeah, I’m your new rink mate now,' Otabek responded, and Yuri could have sworn he saw a brief flash of something in his eyes."Aside from being a world class figure skater, Yuri Plisetsky thought his life was fairly normal. That was, of course, until everything changed in the course of weeks, when Yuri found himself off the ice for a few weeks, watching a certain Kazakh skater instead.





	1. Chapter 1

Yuri scrolled through his Instagram feed. It wasn’t much more than a collection of shitty selfies taken with poor lighting and unimpressive settings. He groaned. “Yuri!” Yakov shouted at him from the ice, “What are you doing? Get out here!” Yuri groaned, shrugging off his hoodie and laying his phone on top of it.

“It’s not even my program you’re judging right now,” he said, mentally directing the words at Yakov as he took to the ice. Fortunately for him, Yakov’s criticism was focused on Mila’s program, for now at least.

“How can you call that an Axel?” Yakov bellowed. Yuri smiled to himself, keeping to his side of the rink, hoping that if he kept his distance, he could avoid being the object of shouting for just a bit longer. He skated around, easily but not sloppily executing a handful of jumps and spins. Yakov and Lilia said that Yuri had gotten lazy since he won gold at the Grand Prix Final, which always sent a flash of anger through him. Yuri Plisetsky was many things, but lazy was not one of them. At least, most of the time it wasn’t.

He wasn’t skating any particular routine, just moving to appease Yakov. His mind began to wander. After the competition season had ended, he still lived with Lilia and Yakov. Yuri’s grandfather lived too far away for any commute, so Yuri was stuck, at least for the moment. At times, it was incredibly frustrating to live with them - Yuri never got to make any plans. He probably wouldn’t even if he could, though, because to make plans, Yuri would have to have someone to make them with. Rinkmates were annoying at best, and his only friend happened to live a country away. In Barcelona, Otabek had asked Yuri to be his friend. He’d taken it seriously, too, exchanging numbers at the café and then putting them to use. In fact, Yuri had been texting Otabek that morning.

Somewhere in the arena, a door slammed, causing Yuri to suddenly snap out of his thoughts. In a flash of events, he hit a patch of rough ice, sending him toppling forward onto his toe picks and toward the rink door.

Yuri made a strangled sound as he felt his ankle twisting painfully beneath him. Throbbing in the most excruciating way, his ankle dulled out the feeling of the rest of his body hitting the ice.

 

——————

“Shut up, hag!” Yuri shouted at Mila, an expression beyond a scowl on his face.

“Yuri, really, it’s not that bad, right? You only have to stay off the ice for another week! It could be worse…” she said optimistically. Mila was unfazed by his yelling, probably because she’d gotten used to it.

“Can you not hear? Shut up! Any time off the ice is time off the ice!” He yelled back. Yuri was sitting on the bleachers near the back of the arena. He was still forced to attend practice even though he couldn’t skate. Mila smiled, satisfied with herself, and entered the rink. Yuri growled at her, mumbling a host of curses under his breath. It wasn’t fair that Yakov wouldn’t let him on the ice. After all, his ankle was only sprained, not fractured, and the only other mark from the fall was a tender cut on his leg from the metal of the rink door. It was an ugly cut, looking worse than it actually was, though it still required a thick wrapping of gauze.

It had been a week since the fall, and Yuri had spent most of it hobbling around on crutches. Viktor had _laughed_ at Yuri’s struggle (“At least it’s some exercise!”) while the Japanese Yuuri apologized profusely on Viktor’s behalf, but apologies did nothing to quell the rage that poured out of Yuri. Now he was allowed to walk a little, and that meant that he could totally kick Viktor’s ass.

Somehow, Yuri managed to make it through practice and was shuttled home. He’d gone straight to his room to do stretches. At practice, he’d only been allowed to watch the other skaters, meaning he’d wasted yet another day. He was going to try to avoid doing that entirely, so he stretched his bad leg up first. As he pulled up on his foot, white hot pain seared through the muscle there, eliciting a “derr’mo!” He held the pose for less than half the time he usually did before flopping down on the floor and pulling out his phone. There were 20 messages that Yuri had let sit for days and didn’t plan on reading. He knew what they would contain: various expressions of pity. Pity wasn’t something he could handle. For that matter, he also was unable to tolerate people babying him. That was precisely why at 23:30, he chose to sneak out.

————————

Yuri swapped out his usual Russia team jacket for a nondescript black hoodie. When he moved through the streets, hood up, head down, and music playing from the buds enough for anyone passing by to hear, he was guaranteed to deter any people or questions.

Yuri didn’t try the front doors to the rink. They were guaranteed to be locked. Instead, he took a back street that led to the chain linked fence around the perimeter of the parking lot. Yakov always forgot to lock the back entrance to the arena, once resulting in a break in and a week of tightened security. But that had been years ago, and Yakov was again far too concerned with flubbed jumps, sloppy free legs, and Lilia to think about some forgotten door.

Yuri paused his music and pulled his earbuds from his ears, shoving his phone into his backpack that housed his skates. A quick glance down both sides of the street told him that he was alone. He poked the fence with the toe of his shoes, finding it to be _probably_ sturdy enough to climb. It was all the reassurance he needed to fit the foot into an opening, pulling himself up the side. The fence made a painfully loud noise, but it wasn’t as startling as the voice that sounded behind him.

“Russia’s kitten is looking more like a tiger.” The voice startled Yuri so much that he fell from the fence, landing on his ass. Yuri snapped upwards, the combined pain from his tailbone and ankle adding to his preexisting anger.

“Kto yebat' ty dumayesh', chto ty?!” Yuri shouted at the offender before noticing who it was. From the shadows of a nearby building, Otabek Altin stepped out. Seeing Otabek for the first time in over a year pulled the strings in his heart, but not enough to calm him down. Instead, he only switched to English for his assault.

“What the hell, Otabek? You can’t just fucking sneak up on people like that!” Yuri was seething in anger and only about an inch from the other skater’s face. Surprisingly, Otabek’s only reaction was to raise a corner of his mouth in a half smile - what was for him a full smile.

“It’s great to see you too, Yuri."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on posting this chapter in a day or so, but after 100 hits an hour after posting, I figured I'd go ahead and upload chapter 2. 3 should be up later tonight! Thank you guys so much!!

“So, you’re breaking in?” Otabek asked Yuri. There was no judgement in his voice, just a question. Yuri was still angry from the startle and fall, but the emotion was dissipating.

“Of course I’m breaking in, I’m not scaling a fence at midnight for the hell of it,” Yuri grumbled, reaching around to dust the dirt off the back of his clothes. Otabek was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“So, your fall was pretty bad then…” Otabek said at last.

“How do you know about that?!”

“I called Yakov. It looks like I’ll be back in Russia for at least a few months to train, and my former rink here is closed now. I needed a new one,” Otabek explained. Yuri was used to this limited elaboration. When texting, Otabek managed more words than he ever did than on the phone or Skype. Yuri learned to appreciate it, though. It made Otabek a good listener, and when he did speak, it was typically something that was worth hearing. Then, Yuri suddenly understood what Otabek’s words meant. 

“Wait,” Yuri said with furrowed eyebrows, “do you mean that you’re…?” He couldn’t finish his question. If he was wrong in his assumptions, he’d sound like a moron.

“Yeah, I’m your new rinkmate now,” Otabek responded, and Yuri could have sworn he saw a brief flash of something in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yuri demanded.

“I just found out myself. I was in Canada four days ago because I thought I was going to be skating for a rink there, but it fell through. It’s all very last minute.” Yuri nods, gradually accepting this information. For those last days in Barcelona, it had been better than anything to have someone he called a friend to hang out with. Ever since Viktor had latched on to the pig, any time spent around them - which was an unfortunate amount since Yuuri had come to Russia - was spent gagging. Now, he was going to have an actual friend living in his city “for at least a few months”. Unbelievable.

“…What are you doing behind the rink at midnight?” Yuri asked, not wanting to acknowledge Otabek’s stay aloud.

Otabek laughed, a very rare sound that Yuri had somehow come to treasure, though he hid that thought beneath a scowl. “You’re the one trying to break in, and you ask what I’m doing here…” he says, shaking his head to himself. Yuri’s scowl deepend. “I just got off my flight from Almaty. My taxi never showed, so I’m trying to find a hotel with a vacancy.”

Yuri didn’t have to think before he made his offer. “You can come back to Yakov’s with me. I have a big room.” Otabek was silent for a moment.

“He won’t care?”

“I mean, probably not. Not if he doesn’t know.” Otabek made a face, making Yuri groan. “Listen, I’m trying to be nice to you, asshole. I’m sure if you explain that you called me from the airport in the middle of the night because you couldn’t find a hotel last minute and that I gave you direction to the studio, he won’t mind.”

“Okay,” Otabek agreed easily. Yuri didn’t glance back to the arena as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk back in the direction he came. “You’re not breaking in anymore?” Otabek asked, still standing beside the fence.

“No.”

“I thought you wanted to skate,” Otabek said. A statement, not a question.

“Yeah, but you look cold, and there’s no way I’m skating after that second fall.” Yuri replied, a bite in his voice.

“Okay,” Otabek said again.

——————

As they turned onto the block, Otabek’s face changed a bit as he looked to Yuri. Most of their walk had been silent, but as they neared the studio, Yuri thought that Otabek looked a bit worried.

“Who lives here?” Otabek asked measuredly.

“Just me, Yakov and Lilia,” Yuri replied. “I moved in for training during the last Grand Prix Final and didn’t leave. The rest of the skaters are spread around, if that’s what you’re wondering. Mila lives with Iskra, Georgi is wherever the hell he lives, and Viktor and Yuuri are… together.” Otabek could sense the change in his voice.

“They’re married now, right?” Otabek asked, cocking his head to the side a bit.

“Ah, I don’t know. Sort of. They technically got married in the United States, but it’s not legal here so their names didn’t change, and it’s not official here. Or in Japan,” Yuri said. The whole marriage thing was extremely tense. After they showed up to dinner wearing matching rings in Barcelona and mentioned an engagement, the press and paparazzi blew up. Of course, it wasn’t really like they were the poster couple of Russia. More than a few people were upset at a public figure they loved was gay. Personally, Yuri didn’t give a shit. Any of the romantic, sappy love crap was garbage and disgusting. It was quiet for a second too long for Yuri, so he decided to speak instead. “They say it’s the thought that counts, but of course they do. Viktor and Yuri make me want to hurl,” Yuri said.

“I’m happy for them.” Otabek said. Yuri remembered how he clapped at the engagement.

“I’m happy that I don’t live with them,” Yuri said. When Viktor came back to Saint Petersburg with Yuuri in tow, they’d holed up at Yakov’s for a week while Viktor apartment hunted. Yuri wouldn’t have cared, except for the fact that the walls were thin and Viktor’s room was directly beside his. In that week, Yuri got the least amount of sleep he ever had in his life. On the last night they were there, Yuri was so tired and furious that he spent the time they had kept him awake during to find an apartment online and make the first month’s payment with some money he’d made from advertisements. Really, he would have paid nothing short of a year’s rent if it meant getting them away from him and finally managing peace and quiet once again.

Yuri pulled open the door to the apartment building, fishing his key out of his pocket. “Just, be quiet as we go in. My room’s on the opposite side of the studio from the rest, so we can talk later. If you wake Yakov up now,” Yuri warned, his hand on the door knob, “he’ll skin you alive, and I might have to help him.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, all meaningful will be translated in brackets: [ ]
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“This isn’t what I pictured your room looking like,” Otabek said as Yuri tossed some pillows onto the couch. Yuri scowled.

“What did you want it to look like?” Yuri asked with a bit of an accusatory tone.

“It’s nothing bad,” Otabek said. The older man unwrapped his scarf from around his neck. “I just thought it would be more… full?”

Yuri hadn’t made his room at Yakov’s home. It was a large room, one bigger than he had at his grandfather’s, with walls painted a shade of gray. The furniture was a set, black wood with matching designs and upholstery. It looked almost like a hotel room, and it definitely looked barely lived in.

“I’m not in here very often, mostly just to sleep.” Yuri explained. He pulled a blanket from the closet, tossing it in Otabek’s direction. “Are you sure the couch is okay?”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you,” Otabek said. The fairly large couch in the middle of Yuri’s room was now covered in a heap of sheets, pillows, and blankets. He’d been accommodating as possible. Everyone at the rink chided him for being too mean, but with Otabek, Yuri sometimes tried out niceness. This was one of those times.

Yuri pointed with a loose hand to the door at the corner. “That goes to the bathroom. You can shower, do whatever.”

Minutes later, after Otabek had hauled his backpack into the bathroom and Yuri heard the water turn on, Yuri slid off his own bed and to his closet and swapped out his jeans for pajama pants. Once back in bed, Yuri opened his Instagram feed and began to scroll. One of the first photos he saw was Otabek’s: a thick cover of clouds outside the window of a plane. Yuri clicked onto the comments and began to read.

 **terra509:** where are you going otabek???????  
**elephantsarecool:** yaaaaaaaaaaaas queen  
**azatasmuli:** YOU BETTER NOT BE LEAVING K-STAN. IF YOU’RE GOING TO RUSSIA AFTER YOUR BOYFRIEND

Yuri continued to read through them, fixated on the comments in a bit of a horrifying way. Since his senior debut in the Grand Prix final one year ago, Yuri’s fanbase had somehow gotten the idea that he and Otabek were secretly dating. Most of the posts on the matter were headlined with the pictures of Yuri on the back of Otabek’s rental motorcycle in Spain. They always aggravated Yuri, because he was positive that Otabek had heard them, too, and he didn’t want Otabek to become to uncomfortable to talk to him and hang out with him. This didn’t keep Yuri from reading on though, until he stopped at a particular comment.

 **otabeksnumberonefan:** YOU GUYS, OTABEK POSTED THE PHOTO AT 4:50 AND SINCE HE LIVES IN ALMATY, THAT AIRPORT HAD FLIGHTS TO MOSCOW DEPARTING AT 4:15. IT MAKES SENSE. IT’S OUR FAMILY REUNION GOD BLESS. LOVE THIS COUPLE #YURABEK4LIFE

Yuri had been in the middle of reading the comment when the bathroom door opened. For the second time of the day, Otabek had caught him off guard doing something he probably should not have been doing. Yuri shot upwards, almost dropping his phone. When he did see Otabek, he did drop his phone. The other skater was wearing only black sweatpants. Otabek’s lean body covered in cords of muscle across his abdomen was, for once, not concealed by a shirt. In locker rooms - and, unfortunately, in hot springs - Yuri had seen countless numbers of other skatings in various states of undress. After being an athlete for the vast majority of his memorable life, Yuri had gotten used to the nudity. Or at least, he thought so, until he saw Otabek.

The sight made his breath catch in his throat, and he was positive that he’d stared at the other man’s body for much longer than what was socially acceptable. Yuri forced his eyes away while his cheeks flamed. His strategy was to pretend the event had never happened. Yuri picked up his phone in an attempt to save any dignity he had left, then casually reach over to his water bottle to take a drink. The plan was almost immediately shattered when Otabek acknowledged the situation.”

“I hadn’t planned on sharing a room tonight, so I didn’t pack pajamas,” Otabek said somewhat apologetically. The thought of Otabek sleeping naked nearly caused Yuri to choke on the water he had almost managed to get down. Trying once again to save face, Yuri poorly concealed himself with a cough. When he glanced up, he could tell that Otabek looked embarrassed, too. His arms were now crossed across his chest, though it did nothing for modesty - his arms were a complete sight of their own - and his cheeks were nearly the same shade of red as Yuri’s, though it was better hidden on his much darker skin. Apparently, Otabek was also attempting to salvage the conversation. “The rest of my stuff is being shipped up from Kazakhstan now, so it’ll be a few days until I get most of my things.”

Yuri nodded at this, perhaps a bit to eagerly. “Yeah, that sucks,” Yuri agreed. He was biting hard at the inside of his lip and boring his eyes straight through his phone. _Fuck, why am I such an idiot?_ Yuri wondered,  _Otabek probably thinks I’m a creep, he looks so damn embarrassed._

Otabek crossed the room, going back to his couch. Yuri stole another glance, this time seeing the phenomenal muscles of Otabek’s back. Yuri realized that he had the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch the skin there, to feel the hard muscle beneath it. The sheer thoughts of the moment combined, and Yuri felt himself filling with wants he’d never felt for another man before. His thin pajama pants did little to conceal the evidence.

Yuri was beyond mortified. He jerked a cushion to his stomach, hoping to form a barrier while he tried to think about anything else other than Otabek. Yuri failed immediately, and then again and again in the following moments.

He waited until Otabek was lying on the couch to attempt to make a break for the bathroom. “I think I’ll go take a shower now. I’ll hit the lights so you can sleep.” Yuri glanced at his phone to check the time. “It’s 1:30 now, and Yakov starts practice at 8:00, so, optimistically, you’ll get a bit over five hours of sleep.” Yuri was overexplaining and talking quickly, a stupid nervous habit he managed to pick up from the pork cutlet bowl who was around all of the time. Otabek nodded.

Yuri stood up quickly, making sure that he kept his back to Otabek in the brief moments that the lights were still on. He hit the switch much harder than was necessary, and the room plunged into a relieving darkness. Yuri walked to the bathroom door, stopping before going in. “Goodnight, Otabek,” he said.

“Night,” came the reply.

——————

“Blyad’, kholodno [it’s cold],” Yuri hissed as the freezing water poured on to him. He was absolutely miserable, but the shower did do its purpose, quickly clearing his mind from Otabek. It was the fastest, most unsatisfying shower of his life. Only a few minutes after he stepped in, he was out again and back in his warm clothes. Yuri sighed as he flipped off the lights before opening the door so as to not wake Otabek if he had fallen asleep. He didn’t want to think about the thoughts that were pressing at his mind - it was far too late for that. Denial wasn’t working as it usually did, leaving him feeling weak against his thoughts. Yuri went back into his room, crawling into his warm bed.

Before he could think, he whispered aloud, “It’s good to have you here, Beka.” Yuri was in the process of drifting to sleep himself when he heard a reply in a whispering voice thick with sleep.

“I’m glad, Yura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THIS SINFUL CONTENT. I couldn't wait any longer to start pursing the relationship.
> 
> I belong in the garbage.
> 
> Let me know what you all think so far! I really appreciate comments and criticism to get a feel for how the work is progressing and where readers would like it to go as I'm totally up for suggestions.


	4. Chapter 4

Even though he’d gotten very little sleep, Yuri felt just as awake as he’d ever been. He’d fallen asleep the previous night listening to his friend’s soft, quiet breathing. Though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, it was better than listening to the rain. Sitting at the arena wasn’t as terrible as it had been, because now, Yuri had a new sight to watch. Of course, he’d seen Otabek skate in competitions, but not much outside of that. Practices were so different. His eyes followed the other skater, and it seemed that Yuri Plisetsky was not the only one enamored with the Kazakh skater.

Yakov watched him for a while before commenting. His volume was loud enough that the words carried over the ice. “I can feel you holding back,” Yakov said. “You don’t talk a lot, but you make up for that with your skating. Your performance at the Grand Prix Final was perfect, but I think you would have made the podium if there had been a bit more emotion.”

All of the way from his seat, Yuri saw Otabek tense at the words. Though they’d only talked about it a little, Yuri could tell that Otabek was upset that he’d just missed the podium. Really, the sniveling little shit that was JJ didn’t deserve the bronze at all. Rightfully, it should have been Otabek’s medal.

“There isn’t a massive problem with your jumps and spins. Your presentation could use work.” Yakov is quiet for a moment. “A triple lutz, Otabek.” Otabek nods and complies immediately. Yuri watched as Otabek moved across the ice quickly, flinging his body up into the air with the force of his toe pick. Three rotations followed by a perfect landing. It was an extraordinarily pleasing sight. Otabek’s body type was different from many of their other rivals - a tad bit shorter, and with more muscle tone. Really, too much muscle often got in the way of flexibility, but Yuri could tell that in Otabek’s case, it only worked to make his skating that much better: the jump was high, and Otabek’s free leg was always perfectly still. Yakov had been watching the entire time, but he only said “keep skating.”

Otabek had equated Yuri to a soldier, but Yuri hadn’t seen such willful determination in another skater before. The Kazakh man had been skating hard for what was nearing a half hour with no breaks of any sort. Yuri noted that his chest was rising and falling quickly - labored breathing - but Otabek hadn’t spoken a single complaint. In his earlier years, almost half of Yuri’s training sessions consisted of protests on his part at the drills. Otabek hadn’t spoken at all, not even at the stupid drills. It was remarkable.

Otabek had circled the rink three times when Yakov signaled for him to stop. When he did, it was with hands on his knees. Yakov looked at him. “You’re a good skater, Otabek. Maybe even great. I know you chose to not study ballet, but studying dance even a little could do wonders for you. Lilia will work with you, and in the meantime, I’m sure that Yuri can help you with form.”

“What?” Yuri choked out as Yakov said, “That’s enough for now, you can take an early lunch.” The only people in the arena who were not watching Yakov and Otabek’s exchange were Viktor and Yuuri. Instead, they were caught up on each other: Yuuri was elevated in a spinning turn in Viktor’s arms. Yuri gagged at the sight of them. Who would have guessed that anyone was so capable of such sickeningly sweet PDA on the ice. Yuri worried that someday, they’d just start making out in the middle of a routine or something. The idea made him shudder. “Chto chertovski polnaya [That’s fucking gross]” Yuri said.

From the bleacher below him, Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Yavlyayetsya li moye kataniye, chto plokho? [Is my skating that bad?]”

Yuri frowned, but when he spoke again, it was in Russian. “No, I’m talking about Viktor and the pig. I didn’t realize you spoke Russian…”

A single corner of Otabek’s mouth turned upwards. “Of course I speak Russian, most of the schools in Kazakhstan use Russian. And I’m half Russian.”

Yuri hadn’t realized this. His English was shit, but he always used it with non-Russian skaters as it tended to be the most universally known language. Otabek’s Russian was flawless though, and he didn’t even have some sort of different, strange accent that foreigners like Yuuri took on when trying to speak his language. Suddenly, Yuri remembered the previous night and the “unkind words,” as Lilia would call them, that he used when Otabek startled him. Yuri automatically assumed that he hadn’t understood. It made him feel a little bad for being so angry, but he ultimately decided that anyone who scared him off a fence was deserving of that.

“Whatever. I want pirozhki,” Yuri grumbled.

——————

After they came back following their short lunch break, Otabek went to Lilia’s room while Yuri sat down with Yakov. “So, maybe you won’t be entirely useless this week. You could watch the other skaters, give them some pointers,” Yakov said, watching the skaters in the rink.

Yuri laughed harshly. “Don’t expect me to play coach like Viktor.” Yakov gave him a look.

“You’re not doing anything else this week. You CAN’T do anything else this week.” Yakov’s voice was final, making it clear that it was not a request but a demand. Yuri’s expression hardened. “Go grab your coaching file from the back. It’ll help you.” Yakov was completely serious.

“Viktor is Yuuri’s coach, and I’m sure as hell not telling Viktor what to do. Georgi is your problem, and Mila won’t listen,” Yuri snapped.

“Great,” Yakov said, “that leaves Otabek.”

With that, Yakov was up and back to his place at the side of the rink, yelling at his skaters. Yuri shoved his phone into his pocket and went to find the stupid papers in the back.

The storage rooms were dark and musty. Yuri had only been inside once or twice, but he easily remembered the unsettling way it made him feel. There were racks of old uniforms and boxes of old skates and blades. Books of arena records. Yuri walked past everything to the corner where he knew his records were.

It was perhaps untraditional, but Yakov kept files on his skaters from the moment they first stepped on his ice. Yakov meticulously made notes of progress and problems. He was nothing if not thorough. His eyes combed through the small books until he found the one titled “PLISETSKY, YURI.” Other files, like the NIKIFOROV, VIKTOR one looked more than a little interesting, but Yuri was ready to leave the room. He grabbed his file and left.

Yuri didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he absolutely didn’t want to be around Otabek more than he already was. Something about the way the other skater made him feel was… concerning. Yuri hadn’t really dated before. He was 16 now, nearing 17, but he never found himself interested in dating. There were a handful of girls at the rink who he had kissed, and a few less than that he’d slipped into farther territory with. None of it particularly interested him, and Mila loved to harass him for it.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Yuri? There are thousands of girls in your fan club who would just looove to date you!” she’d say, to which he’d always shout back, “baba!”

He hated that he was even considering thinking about Otabek in this context. Yuri began to chide himself, _You’re just horny or something. You don’t want Otabek, you just want sex… and he happened to be there. Get it together, for fuck’s sake._

Yuri stuffed the papers in his back pocket, still grumbling at himself internally when he spotted Otabek leaving the changing room. The sudden sight of him accompanied by the monologue running through Yuri’s mind was enough to make him sputter.

Otabek glanced up at him. Yuri realized that the noises he made were ridiculous. Otabek was just another skater. Just a friend, and nothing more. Yuri realized that he was staring. “How was Lilia?” He managed to get out. Otabek shook his head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever contoured my body like that before… and I’m pretty sure that she hates me” Otabek reported. Yuri laughed a little. He remembered how it had been when he first began training under her. “She told me to leave and not come back until I ‘had my hair out of my face and could listen to her.”

Yuri laughed a little again. “That’s why I braided my hair. I hated her yelling about it.” Before Yuri could think, he said, “here, sit down.” Otabek gave him a questioning look. “Just, sit.” Yuri said again, followed by a thought  _before I change my mind._ Otabek sat, and Yuri looked down at him. “Lilia said I had to kill my past self, so I guess I did that a little by changing my hair. It’s your turn for that now.”

Yuri stood behind Otabek and gathered all the black hair from the top of his head. He noticed that when he touched Otabek, the other skater flinched a bit as if surprised. Otabek didn’t seem to mind, though, as Yuri ran his fingers through the hair a few times  _to untangle it_ , he told himself, but maybe a few more times than was necessary as the hair was unexpectedly soft. Yuri felt his face heat up a little as he thought that, but cast the thoughts away so he could braid Otabek’s hair. It was styled in an undercut, so Otabek only had half a head of hair, but what was there was incredibly thick. Yuri worked through it quickly, leaving a rather nice looking single braid down the center of his head when he’d finished.

“It’s finished,” he said. When he took his hands down, he noticed that they were shaking just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind responses so far! I'm really enjoying writing this for you all :)
> 
> Also, once I had the crack fluffy idea of Yuri braiding Otabek's hair, I couldn't let it die. The end of this chapter is the result. 
> 
> Stay tuned for more, and let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Since Lilia had gone to lunch and Yuri was technically supposed to be helping Otabek, they stayed standing together in the hall after Yuri had finished his hair. They sat in what was a comfortable silence until Yuri opened Instagram. The first picture he saw made him hurl his phone across the room.

“Yuuri!” He shouted, tearing across the room at the dark haired skater in the corner. Yuri went running and tackled him so hard that they both went sprawling across the floor. The buta [pig] made some strangled sounds as he rasped beneath Yuri. “Why would you post that?” he demanded. “You might like cute shit with Viktor, but leave me and Otabek the hell out of it, asshole!”

Yuri stood up, not wanting to be any closer to Yuuri than he had to be. He was furious. The picture had been of his hands in Otabek’s hair, a smile on both of their blushing faces. Yuri hadn’t needed to see the caption to guess what it would say. He also didn’t need to see the comments to guess that fan comments would be pouring in, and that within a very short amount of time, the only phone calls he’d get would be from nosy reporters.

When Yuri blinked, he could almost the headlines.

 _Breaking! Romance burning for skaters Plisetsky and Altin!_  

_Kazakh skater Otabek Altin joins Yuuri Katsuki in the pilgrimage to Moscow for their Russian lovers!_

What would his grandfather think? Yuri fisted a hand in his hair, pushing against the headache already creeping into his skull.

When he looked back at Yuuri, he realized that the idiot was talking. “I just thought it was so cute~! I mean, you and Otabek? If you’re worried about acceptance-" 

Yuri wouldn’t let him finish his words. “We. Are. Not. DATING, YOU IDIOT!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. He knew that Otabek was only feet away, but Yuri couldn’t let himself look. He didn’t want to face the expression of his only friend that he might have just lost. And it was all Yuuri’s fault with the dumb picture. 

Yuri went to his own locker, jerking the door open so hard it almost was yanked from its hinges. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder and started toward the door. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Otabek who maybe looked more stunned than he had, if it was even possible.

“Are- are you leaving?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri wanted to turn around and punch the pig in his stupid face. The only reason he held back is because he felt Otabek’s eyes on him. So instead he said nothing and kept his hands balled in fists the entire way home.

 As he left, Viktor stepped out from the corner where he'd watched the entire exchange. "When do you think Yurio will be honest himself?" Viktor asked Yuuri. Yuuri only shrugged. Viktor watched him as he stepped out the door. "He's always been a terrible liar."

——————

Yuri hadn’t remembered that he’d thrown his phone at the wall when he stormed out of the arena. Even if he had, it wasn’t likely that he would have picked it up due to pride. Yuri would get it back the next day, and even if he didn’t, it wasn’t a terrible idea to get a new phone anyway, partly because he threw it so many times, and also because the press was bound to find his number through someone since he had the phone for so long.

 Nevertheless, Yuri wished he had his phone, because at least he could be listening to music. It probably would have distracted him from the bottles of vodka he’d stashed under his bed, hidden from the ever watchful eyes of Yakov and Lilia. It definitely would have distracted him from drinking half the bottle on his own.

 After he’d been holed up in his room for some number of hours - how many exactly he wasn’t sure of - there was a knock on his door. “I left practice because the pig is an asshole and I didn’t want to break him or something else, Yakov. Go bother him if you’re mad,” Yuri said, his words clearly slurred.

 “It’s Otabek,” came the voice, “can I come in?”

 Yuri meant to mumble a “Der’mo,” though it actually came out with more volume that he intended, meaning that Otabek definitely heard. After a moment of silence, Yuri said, “fine.”

 The door opened slowly to an apprehensive looking Otabek. He glanced in and saw the bottle in Yuri’s hand. A visible sigh left the older skater’s body. Otabek sat on the edge of a chair across from the bed where Yuri laid. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning,” the Kazakh tried. Yuri laughed.

 “Maybe, but at least it’ll feel less shitty than I do now.” It took a few moments for his brain to catch up with his mouth. Had he really said that?

 Otabek said his name once. Yuri turned his head to face him. “I’m really sorry, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, Yuri.”

 “What?” Yuri asked.

 Otabek looked at him for a moment. “Do you have any more of that?” he asked, gesturing to the bottle in Yuri’s hand. The look on Otabek’s face stopped any question from forming in Yuri’s mouth and he held out the bottle for his friend. He took a deep, impressive drink for someone who wasn’t Russian. He barely grimaced, but Yuri caught the look. “I know how it is here… and it’s like that back in Kazakhstan, too. For people that are, well, people like Viktor and Yuuri, it’s not great. It used to scare me a lot.” Otabek took a shallower drink from the bottle.Yuri sat up, wondering what Otabek was even trying to say.

 “Who said I’m scared?” Yuri challenged, but his intent didn’t meet his voice. The question was very audibly a weak one.

 “No one did, Yuri. I said I was, and that I understand,” Otabek said. Yuri tried to harden his gaze and failed.

 “Otabek, I’m not g-“ Yuri tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. If Yuri couldn’t even convince himself of that, how could he convince anyone else? Suddenly, a few things connected in his mind. “Are you?” Yuri asked. Otabek simply looked at him, his silence answering the question. Yuri drew in a sharp breath, horrified to realize that part of him felt relieved. Maybe then Otabek would -

 “I thought you’d understand, Yuri.” Otabek said, looking a lot like he had been betrayed. It shattered Yuri.

 “Otabek…” he said quietly, trying to stand. The alcohol now in his body prevented him from standing too quickly but he wobbled to his feet anyway. “I’m sorry.” Yuri reach out to touch the other skater and stumbled a little. Both his arms went forward to find some anchor, and it came in the form of Otabek’s shoulder. “You’re my only friend,” he whispered, clinging to the grip his hand had found. Yuri felt warm, like fire was running through his veins. His head spun like he was in the middle of a quad jump.

 “Yuri,” Otabek said.

 This time, Yuri didn’t reply. Instead, he threaded his other hand behind Otabek's neck and brought his face forward to kiss him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added both the angst and fluff tags after writing this chapter, if that tells you anything about how it made me feel :')
> 
> Let me know what you all think about this?? I'm hoping it's not too unbelievable canonically, but I still have a lot of plans for this in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a quick forewarning is that this chapter is about half as long as all the previous ones. 
> 
> HOWEVER, I think it may be just about twice as enjoyable. Hope you all like this!

Yuri had not anticipated Otabek’s reaction. Instead of pushing him away or recoiling in disgust, Otabek did the most surprising thing and kissed Yuri back. Viktor - or no one else, really - could ever claim shock factor again. Yuri was so startled at the reaction. He hadn’t planned beyond his first movement, and he hadn’t really planned that, either, so it was all absolutely uncharted and in the moment. Yuri wanted Otabek more than he had realized. His closeness was so exhilarating that it blocked out any second thoughts Yuri had. He was not ready to pull away, because then, inevitable words would come and doubts would enter. Instead, he wanted to be nothing more than a drunk, horny teenager making out in a dark bedroom, no more remarkable or different than anyone else, even if it was just for a moment.

Yuri kissed him back with unrestrained desire, pushing Otabek down into the chair below them. Yuri followed him onto the chair next, straddling Otabek with his legs. Otabek pulled back for a moment. “Yuri…” he mumbled. There was hesitation audible in his voice, but also heavy desire and longing. It sent electric through Yuri.

“Don’t talk, you’ll ruin it,” Yuri protested, kissing at Otabek’s jaw.

“What if Yakov comes in?”

“He won’t.” Yuri pressed himself against Otabek’s chest. He was so drunk, and Yuri was positive that he would regret his actions in the morning, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from wanting them right then.

“He gave me a key, I’m supposed to stay here until I find an apartment.”

“Great, more time for us. Now shut up,” Yuri said with a whine in his voice. It must have set something off within Otabek, because the dark haired skater kissed him hard. Yuri responded greedily, rolling his hips downward against Otabek. He felt a growl in Otabek’s throat that sent chills dancing down through his spine. Fingers pulled up at the bottom of his shirt’s hem. In response, Yuri slid his hand into the space between their bodies. Otabek’s resulting reaction was nothing short of delicious.

——————

After a time of his lips against Otabek’s, Yuri lay his head against Otabek’s shoulder. Taking a hint from earlier, Otabek said nothing, but his fingers traced small lines down Yuri’s spine. “Dobroy nochi, [good night]” Otabek whispered, but by the time he did, Yuri had already fallen asleep.

When Yakov came in the room hours later to see if Yuri knew where Otabek had gone, he found them laying just as they had been when they both fell asleep hours earlier: Yuri sitting on the Kazakh skater’s lap, his head of blonde hair splayed across Otabek’s shoulder, and Otabek’s head resting against Yuri’s.

Yakov turned, flipping off the last light left on before he left. The only thing he wondered was why, out of a million interested people, Yuri had chosen to pursue the only one who smiled less than he did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself, lots of angst follows.
> 
> Also, thank you all for topping 1,000 reads and 100 kudos! It's sort of crazy to think that this story has gotten that much attention in a four day span. Thank you all for that!

Yuri woke up facedown on his bed. His head was throbbing dully and his entire body ached. Yuri groaned into his pillow. A small furry ball poked at his hand. “Ugh, Lucya,” Yuri mumbled to his cat, though he still reach rubbed her head between her ears, drawing out a soft meow. Somewhere on his bed, his phone blared its morning alarm at top volume. Holding on to the hopes that it would eventually stop, Yuri’s only move was to roll over and stare at the ceiling for a moment. When it became apparent that the phone was only going to continue its hellish noise until he stopped it, Yuri sat up to look for it. The light coming in from the window temporarily blinded him, but his hand connected with his phone. After a few quick seconds of frantically tapping the screen, the alarm quieted. Yuri flopped backwards, grateful for the silence.

His finger ran over a small crack in the screen of his phone, and he glanced downward in it, trying to understand how it had gotten there.

Then, all at once, he remembered everything.

Any need to vomit he’d previously felt was magnified by a hundred times. Moving faster than was probably safe for him in his state, Yuri bolted to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach. He sat on the floor for a moment, letting his head rest against the cool counter. Before he made himself stand, he scooted to the shower, turning on the water as hot as it would go, then stood up to brush his teeth.

A few minutes later, he stood with his head against the shower wall, letting the burning hot water scald his skin numb. If anything, it stopped him from thinking about the night before, though memories of it kept working their way back into his head.

Yuri couldn’t believe what he did. Otabek was the single person that he could truly call a friend, and he was so afraid he ruined what they had. To himself, at least, he couldn’t continue to deny what he wanted, feelings be damned. Yuri could never be like Viktor and Yuuri, so open and affectionate constantly. He also didn’t know that he could be so honest. Other European countries, and a good portion of North America, too, tended to be much more accepting than his own home was. Though he realized Viktor and Yuuri did not acknowledge the unkind things people said about their relationship, Yuri wasn’t convinced that it had never gotten to them.

Yuri was frustrated at himself. He had been able to discipline himself on the ice for his programs, but now, off the ice, all of his training stopped applying. He cut off the water to get dressed for the practice he was already very late for.

When Yuri glanced back at the chair, he realized that Otabek must have moved him before going to practice, because he didn’t remember finding his own way to bed the night before. The mere thought of it sent his cheeks blazing bright red. Otabek had also, he was sure, retrieved his cracked phone from the arena and set an alarm. _You’re being a moron for thinking about everything, still. It doesn’t matter what Otabek did! Stop it!_ he demanded of himself as he grabbed his bag and plugged in his headphones to leave.

He walked the entire way to the arena with his head down. In his pocket, his phone buzzed for what were probably social media alerts after the stupid picture Yuuri had posted online.

Yuri was left to wonder how things had gone so badly in the course of less than a week. First, he fell and took himself off the ice for the week. Next, Yuuri had taken the picture. Then, he’d topped it all off himself by making the horrible decision to… be with Otabek. Yuri was disgusted with himself. Not only was he becoming someone that he feared everyone else would hate, but he got the one person he couldn’t lose involved.

When he reach the rink, Yuri stopped in front of the door. As he visualized walking in and seeing Otabek, his stomach began to hurt all over again. Yuri dropped his hand from the door and turned. He wasn’t sure where he would go, just so long as it wasn’t inside the rink.

Yuri turned up the volume on his music as high as it would go to drown out the thoughts running through his head. Typically, he could punch or kick the source of his anger, but it wasn’t as if he could physically assault himself. He gritted his teeth.

At a crosswalk, a middle age woman began to stare at him with the most judgmental of looks. Something inside him snapped. All the anger Yuri felt at himself that had been accumulating during the course of the morning came flying out in the direction of the woman.

“Who the hell do you think you’re looking at? Mind your own fucking business! Yeah, damn right, you better make that face. THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE WHEN PEOPLE STARE AT YOU, GREAT, RIGHT?!” Yuri jerked away from the horrified gaze the people there had taken on and jaywalked across the road, not caring enough to note whether there were cars driving in his direction or not.

Yuri entered the first coffee shop he found. Caffeine would be needed to dull the pounding headache that had worsened. A few minutes later, he dropped into a chair and took his first drink of an extra large cup of black coffee. It was as bitter as hell, perfect for matching his attitude. He had barely cut into the cup when he glanced up to see Viktor standing outside. Yuri gripped his cup so hard it almost burst and stormed out of the cafe.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“You skipped practice,” Viktor said. He looked concerned, much to Yuri’s surprise.

“So? You’ve skipped practice before.”

“Yes,” Viktor agreed easily, “But you haven’t. It isn’t like you, Yuri, to skip. You’ve never even been late before, if I remember correctly. Yesterday you left early and today you didn’t come at all. Yakov’s concerned.”

Yuri scowled. “Yakov sent you.”

“He seems to think that you need to talk to someone, and that I would do a better job than he would. And I agree,” Viktor said. The light drizzle that had started perhaps half an hour earlier grew heavier. “Listen, come back to my apartment and get out of the cold and rain.”

“I’m not having a fucking heart to heart, Viktor. Your pig might cry about his feelings in a bathroom, but I’m not going to weep to you,” Yuri spat. Viktor’s expression hardened slightly.

“I’m not asking for a heart to heart or a therapy session. I just want you to listen to someone, just this once.” Viktor turned and began to walk in the direction of his apartment. He spoke over his shoulder at Yuri. “I won’t beg for you to come with me, but I’ll offer this last time. Yakov isn’t the only one who’s worried about you.”

Viktor started in the direction of his apartment for the second time. Yuri knew that he would not stop again. After a moment’s deliberation, Yuri groaned and muttered a curse under his breath, then followed Viktor.


	8. Chapter 8

Yuri watched as Viktor pulled off his coat and sat down on his couch. The apartment was in one of the nicest parts of St. Petersburg, probably purchased with money from advertisements. Once a gold medal hung around the neck of any athlete, requests for appearances in advertisements would inevitably flood in. For someone like Viktor with his five gold medals, money was easy to come by. Yuri kept his jacket on as he dropped into a comfortable looking chair. 

Glancing around the apartment, he noted that it looked different than the last time he was in it, before Viktor went to Hasetsu to coach Yuuri. Now, it looked much more occupied. Yuri turned his eyes to the floor.

“Yakov told me that he saw something, Yuri.” Viktor was quiet for a moment. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Yuri’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment. What could Yakov have found that was urgent enough to send Viktor after him? Then he remembered the bottle of pills he left on the table beside his bed, the painkillers he’d been using for his ankle Yuri let out an incredulous laugh. “Yakov thinks I’m on drugs? That’s rich.” Yuri hadn’t so much as touched a drug in his life. 

Viktor gave him a curious look. “No.” He was quiet for a moment. “He heard about your fit yesterday with Yuuri about how you aren’t dating Otabek. Then, he told me this morning that he came home and found you in his lap.”

Yuri jumped out of his chair. What all did Yakov see? 

In his mind, he held the illusion that if he didn’t talk about what happened, it wouldn’t really exist. It was a fragile mentality, though, and it had just been crushed in no more than two sentences from Viktor. Yuri put a hand on his head. “Viktor, I swear that I will kill you, no matter how much older than me you are, if you tell anyone else about this.”

Viktor didn’t react. “Don’t be dramatic, Yuri. You’re overestimating my interest in your sex life,” he said, eliciting a choking noise from Yuri. 

“We DID NOT -“ Yuri tried to say, but ultimately he was unable to finish the sentence.

Viktor raised an eyebrow and took a drink from his own coffee. “Well, then. Probably better that you didn’t, actually, if you can’t even manage to say the word.” Yuri couldn’t reply. “Anyway, Yakov thinks that you aren’t taking this whole ‘sexuality’ deal very well.”

“So he sent you to talk to me?” Yuri choked out.

Viktor laughed at the comment. “I’m married to a man, Yuri. I doubt there is anyone else at the rink better qualified to have this talk with you.” Yuri blanched.

“This is not happening right now,” Yuri said, hoping to convince himself.

Viktor grinned. “No, not that talk, unless you want it.” Yuri was still making strangled noises. “In all seriousness, though, I understand.” Viktor’s tone changed slightly. “Yuuri isn’t the first man I’ve been with. When I was younger, I worried that something was wrong with me. It was tough, because a lot of the magazines kept asking if I had a girlfriend, when really I had a boyfriend instead. I managed to keep that part of my life quiet, but I stopped caring what other people thought when I met Yuuri.” Yuri was quiet now, and he slowly sat back down in his chair. “I wish I did that earlier, but I just wasn’t ready to accept myself until I found someone who made me realize that my emotions and desires were more valuable to my life than other’s opinions.” Viktor took another drink from his coffee. “I won’t lie, Yura, it’s not always great. My father still hasn’t spoken to me since I got engaged to Yuuri at the Grand Prix Final, and it also doesn’t feel great to live in a place where my marriage is illegal. It’s all worth it at the end of the day, Yuri. I just hope that someday, it’ll be worth it to you.”

Yuri’s eyes bored into the carpet. He looked up, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had. Viktor smiled sympathetically, his expression soft and accepting. In that moment, Yuri felt safer than he ever had. He thought that someone knowing his secret would feel like a million tons of weight crushing him down, but instead, he felt lighter than he ever had before. Viktor knew and didn’t seem to be treating him any differently. “I still think you and the Katsudon are disgusting with the PDA,” Yuri said at last. 

“Oh, please,” Viktor laughed, “you haven’t seen the half of it.” Yuri replied with a retching sound. 

“Spare me,” Yuri groaned, “Any PDA is too much PDA.” 

They were quiet for a moment, but Viktor broke the silence. “So… Otabek, huh?” Yuri frowned.

“Viktor, I swear…”

“No, no, it’s just that it’s interesting, him being your first boyfriend…” Viktor said.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Yuri repeated. Viktor shot him an accusatory look. “What?” Yuri asked, “I’m being serious. We’re not dating. No, we’re just friends… who happened to make out and, well, it doesn’t really matter what else.”

Viktor laughed. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Wow. What are you going to do?” Viktor asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Yuri gave him a measured look. “I hope I won’t have to do anything,” he said.

“You can’t just kiss your friend and pretend it didn’t happen.” Viktor said.

“Is that a challenge?”

“No, definitely not,” Viktor said. “Listen, if you don’t acknowledge it, you’re going to wreck your friendship. Even if you don’t want to be with Otabek, that’s something you should still talk about.” Yuri sighed. “Do you want to be with Otabek, Yuri?” 

Yuri didn’t like the question. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. 

“Well,” Viktor said, standing up, “that’s probably something you should figure out. Go out with him sometime. It doesn’t have to be serious, but it might be enough for you to figure out what you want.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck. “I’m going back to the rink. I’ll tell Yakov that you should take the rest of the day off but that you’ll be back tomorrow. You’re not great at hiding a hangover, and I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy if he knew about that.” Yuri stood, grabbed his coffee and crossed the room to the door. 

“Hey, Viktor… thanks,” Yuri said as they stepped into the hallway outside. 

“No problem. You should go back home and sleep what’s left of that hangover off.” Yuri nodded. When they left the building and turned to part ways, Viktor looked back at Yuri. “One last thing,” he said. 

“Yeah?” Yuri asked.

“Don’t forget to be safe!” Viktor said, pushing a foil packet into Yuri’s hand before turning and walking away.

“Proklyat'ye [dammit], Viktor,” Yuri groaned, but still pocketed the package before anyone else could notice what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy mother of dialogue, sorry that this was probably such a beast to read. The next chapter will be packed with fluff mixed in with some angst (and maybe another dash of light smut??)
> 
> On another quick note, I don't really like the Yurio as an adopted son of Viktor and Yuuri AU, but I still have this headcanon that there's a brotherly type of affection between Viktor and Yuri, even if Yuri's a little shit sometimes.


	9. Chapter 9

Many hours after his encounter with Viktor, Yuri slid out of his bed for the second time that day. Even though he already showered earlier in the day, he felt compelled to take another and bring his coffee with him. Anything to make him feel like a human being again.

Save for a light fog blanketing some of his thoughts, Yuri left most of his maladies in his sleep. When he left his bathroom, Yuri felt much more alive.

He walked to the kitchen, looking for any sign of life in the apartment. A quick glance to the clock on the wall told him that it was 18:00, well past the time that Yakov and Lilia (and Otabek) should have been back. Yuri slid his phone from his pocket and called Yakov.

“Da [yes]?” A voice on the other end grumbled.

“Where are you?” Yuri asked.

“I’m out for dinner,” Yakov said. Yuri raised an eyebrow. Yakov liked to complain about restaurants with their terrible wait staffs and overpriced menus. He never went out.

“Oh. Where’s Lilia?” Yuri asked. There was a long pause before Yakov responded.

“…she is also at dinner.” Yakov said flatly.

“Oh,” Yuri said again, not yet making the connection until suddenly it clicked. “OH!” he said louder, a devilish grin taking shape across his face. At the arena, nearly all the skaters secretly hoped that Yakov and Lilia would get back together in hopes that their moods would improve. Both were relentless and demanding, but some people - Mila in particular - thought that a marriage would settle them down.

“I’m hanging up now,” Yakov said. He paused for a moment. “I don’t want you burning down the apartment down trying to cook for yourself. Go get dinner,” Yakov told him. Yuri was getting ready to agree and hang up when he caught the tail end of Yakov’s instructions. “And take Otabek with you, while you’re at it.”

Yuri glared at his phone as if it were Otabek for a few minutes after hanging up. It was all part of an elaborate scheme, he was sure, to orchestrate some grand dinner between him and the other skater. Yuri didn’t want to go along with it, but realized that there weren’t any other options because he was hungry himself, and also because he doubted Otabek had been in Russia long enough to find edible food on his own.

Yuri begrudgingly made himself change into nicer clothes. If he was being forced on a dinner date, Yuri was going to make damn sure he at least looked nice. After he was dressed well, Yuri dropped onto the couch and opened Instagram, nervously scrolling through his feed without actually looking at any of the photos. Nervousness twisted his stomach into a ball as he waited for Otabek to get back from the rink. More than once he typed out a text to Otabek.

Where are you?

His finger would linger over the send button but invariably, he would slide it down to the backspace key and erase the message.

Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the apartment door opened and Otabek stepped inside. His expression was nothing but calm as he looked at Yuri. Inversely, Yuri’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest as he stood up from the couch and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He wanted to attempt the same collected demeanor that Otabek had. “Where were you?” Yuri asked him, his voice sounding softer than he hoped it would.

“Picking this up,” Otabek said, flashing a key in his fingers, “though I could ask the same question.” His head inclined slightly as if he were trying to see Yuri better. To his great dismay, Yuri knew that he couldn’t hide anything. Otabek’s obsidian eyes pierced right through any semblance of a façade he had left.

“I was… hungover.” Yuri attempted weakly. Otabek nodded, but Yuri knew he didn’t buy the excuse. They were quiet for a moment, with Otabek hanging back in the doorway and Yuri standing his ground beside the couch.

“Yu-“ Otabek began to say, but Yuri cut him off. He wasn’t ready for a conversation, not yet.

“Yakov and Lilia left and neither of us is trusted in the kitchen, so it looks like we’re going out for dinner now.” Yuri said. For a single second, a storm flashed in the other skater’s black eyes. Just as soon as it had came, though, it was gone, and Otabek nodded.

“Okay.” He glanced down to the key in his hand. “I’m guessing you’d rather walk?” Otabek asked.

“What,” Yuri asked, “Did you get a car or something?”

——————

“Wow. This is different from the one in Barcelona,” Yuri commented, looking at the rather expensive looking motorcycle parked behind the apartment building.

“That’s because that bike was a rental. This one is mine.”

“You must really like motorcycles,” Yuri replied, his eyes still fixated on the perfect gleam of the black paint against the shining silver chrome of the body.

“Well, I have to spend the money somehow,” Otabek said with a smile in his voice. Yuri looked to the Kazakh. Freshly fallen white snow had formed a light, sparkling layer on the dark leather of Otabek’s jacket.

“Well. are we going to go eat or what?” Yuri said. Otabek retrieved the helmets from the compartment under his seat and swung onto the bike. The forgotten knot in the pit of Yuri’s stomach was suddenly very present again. Otabek put his key in the ignition and the bike roared to life.

“Well,” said Otabek, mirroring his words, “are you coming or what?”

Yuri offered a small smile as he took the helmet Otabek had offered out and swung onto the seat behind him. Much like in Barcelona, Yuri began the ride holding to the seat between their bodies. But because Otabek had sped up, he told himself, it was probably a better idea to hold on to Otabek instead.

Even though he’d been all over the other skater the other night, when his hands moved forward to hold to his torso, they did so shyly. Yuri felt Otabek tense under his hands, and he could only hope that Otabek hadn’t heard the small gasp that escaped his lips at the feeling of their closeness.

It only took a minute’s time for Yuri’s body to be pressed flush to Otabek’s - because it’s cold and snowing, he assured himself. He knew that it was a lie, especially when they parked on the street in front of the restaurant and Yuri found himself not wanting to let go.

——————

Yuri sat with his aquamarine eyes carefully trained on Otabek in the seat across from him. Yuri chose a quaint restaurant that was farther outside of St. Petersburg than most of the people wielding cameras liked to go. Years ago, it had been a near tradition to eat there with Viktor as competition season approached and the press became more animalistic than human. Here, no one would bother them.

“Lilia liked the braid yesterday,” Otabek commented casually as he stirred a packet of sugar into his hot tea with a straw.

“That’s… surprising. Lilia doesn’t like very many things. It’s a good thing that she’s a good choreographer and dance teacher, or I don’t think that anyone could stand to keep her around. Not even Yakov.,” Yuri replied. He was consciously aware that he was slipping into his nervous habit of talking too much. It was even more complicated because he didn’t know how to handle it - he wasn’t nervous very often at all. This was incredibly different, though, because he was sitting at dinner with Otabek and all he could do was talk about their coaches.

Otabek eyed him carefully. “You’re staring, you know,” he said, but any rudeness was blocked by the soft smile on his lips. Yuri wanted to kiss him just as badly as ever, especially now that he knew what he felt like, tasted like.

“Sorry, I’m still trying to get my head in one place,” Yuri apologized with a fair amount of honesty. Otabek’s expression softened.

“Hangover that bad?”

“It’s not so bad now,” Yuri replied. He laughed a little at himself. “I can’t even remember how much I drank.” There was a light flush on his cheeks, because it was the first time he referenced the previous night at all.

Otabek smiled a little wider. “A lot,” he responded. “I’m actually surprised that you haven’t gotten alcohol poisoning, if that’s how you always drink.”

Yuri shook his head. “I rarely drink, actually.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that. You had drank around half that bottle when I first came in.” Otabek’s words were innocent by themselves, but Yuri could practically hear the motive behind him. The words snapped him back to the night before, to the taste of that cheap vodka on Otabek’s breath mixing in with something sweet that Yuri was too drunk to register.

“Is this your way of asking to talk about it?” Yuri asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t make himself meet the other skater’s eyes.

“That can be your decision, Yuri. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He heard Otabek shift in his seat. Yuri was quiet for a moment.

“I couldn’t even… think about this for the longest time, let alone talk about it,” Yuri said quietly. “I wasn’t sure before last night. I thought it was a bad dream that I could wish away.”

“You weren’t sure that what, Yura?” Otabek asked. The use of his nickname drew Yuri’s eyes back to Otabek who was sitting up straight, looking more intense and alert than Yuri had ever seen him off the ice. When he skated, Otabek had a demanding, intimidating presence that faded when he left the rink. Seeing it then gave Yuri the push needed for him to say the words that had haunted him for the past few years.

“That I’m gay.”

The words left him in a rush of relief so extreme that he leaned back against the booth, somehow physically exerted after having said them. Yuri closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting a declaration like that,” Otabek said, obviously stunned.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Yuri said, sitting up to look at Otabek.

Somehow, in the serious moment, they both bust out into a nervous laughter that quickly transformed into a freer one.

And in that very moment, laughing at himself while sitting in some forgotten cafe shop across from the person that he realized no one could replaced, Yuri realized that it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after typing that last sentence I realized that this could be a beautiful end for this fanfic :') But of course, I'm too deeply emotionally tangled in YOI and Otayuri to end this fic just yet.


	10. Chapter 10

Yuri’s food was left mostly untouched despite the fact that he was starving when he first walked into the restaurant. Something else had his attention. The hours he spent there were focused on dumb jokes and Otabek. All the awkward tension didn’t dissipate immediately. There were still some halted moments in conversation, a handful of comments marked by blushing cheeks. Yuri was comfortable with Otabek though, and there was certainly something to be said for that.

Otabek frowned when he looked at Yuri’s plate. “Are you not hungry?”

Yuri looked down on his plate, the once warm food forgotten. He poked the food with the edge of his fork. “I was,” he said, glancing down at the now unsavory looking dish. “It’s okay though.” His stomach immediately grumbled, betraying his lie. The Kazakh raised an eyebrow.

“Was the food not good?” he asked.

Yuri laughed. “It was fine when it was hot, but cold borscht is gross.”

Otabek made a face. “Any borscht is gross,” he deadpanned. Yuri looked offended.

“Are you kidding? Borscht is a highlight of Russian food, it’s almost as good as pirozhki,” Otabek made a noncommittal sound. “Are you implying that Russian food is bad?” Yuri challenged.

“No. I’m just implying that it isn’t good,” Otabek said with a sly smile like he bested Yuri somehow.

“Yeah, well,” Yuri shot back, “I bet Kazakh food isn’t good.” Otabek laughed, a rich and sincere sound. It momentarily made Yuri forget that they were joking and warmed him to his toes. “What?” Yuri demanded.

“I’m just wondering how you’d react to Kumis…” Otabek chuckled. There must have been a certain look on Yuri’s face, because Otabek explained. “It’s fermented horse milk, so, basically it’s alcoholic milk.” Yuri retched.

“That’s fucking awful,” he complained, stomach turning at the idea. “Now I’m not hungry at all.” Otabek laughed. “Is all the Kazakh food disgusting?”

“No, of course not,” Otabek said, “actually, most of it’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think you’d like it.”

It was Yuri’s turn to smile. “Maybe I’ll have to come try it with you someday.” His gaze was hopeful and anticipating of a reaction.

“I’m sure you will,” Otabek said. Yuri bit at his lip, then moved to slide his hand across the table, his fingers beginning to brush Otabek’s. He went to twine there fingers together when the waitress walked over. She couldn’t be any older than they were, and though Yuri didn’t know it, she and her coworker had been gossiping about the “adorable couple at table 5.”

“We’re closing soon,” she said firmly but not unkindly and dropped the bill on the table. Yuri reach for his wallet.

“I’ll pay,” he assured Otabek despite a few attempts on the Kazakh’s part to take the check. Yuri attempted to pull the money out first to slap onto the table. What he did not realize was that in his haste, he also took hold of a certain other item in his pocket. The condom came landing down on top of the small stack of rubles. Yuri was immediately mortified.

The waitress only raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I’ve got to say,” she said, sliding out the money from underneath the package, “that’s confident if I’ve ever seen it.”

“Fuck,” Yuri mumbled, his pale skin a furious red. To his surprise, Otabek managed to laugh through his own embarrassment. It felt like the foil package had eyes of its own that were boring into Yuri’s. Laying on the table like that, it demanded too much attention. “Dammit, Viktor,” Yuri grumbled. He snatched up the package and shoved it into his pocket so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

“Do you want to leave?” Yuri asked, standing up from the table.

“I take it that’s more of a request than a question,” Otabek said, still smiling to himself, “but sure.” Yuri started towards the door.

“Do you want your change?”

“Keep it,” Yuri replied shortly.

Otabek followed him outside. The earlier snowfall had stopped and it left a thin blanket across the landscape as its mark. Instead of climbing onto his bike, Otabek glanced at Yuri.

“You’re embarrassed,” Otabek said.

“Gee, is it that fucking obvious?” Yuri muttered. His words were harsh but the emotions behind them weren’t. Otabek understood: Yuri was always like this.

“It makes you angry, being embarrassed, doesn’t it? Which only makes you more embarrassed and angry,” Otabek was lucky that he wasn’t anybody else, or Yuri might have felt compelled to kick him. “It’s interesting.” Yuri tried not to glare.  
“I think you spend a lot of time building up personas,” Otabek commented. Yuri’s jaw was set hard, but he was still listening. “On the ice, you’re Russia’s fairy, so I think you try to compensate for that by being its punk outside the rink. I just wonder…” Otabek asked, his midnight dark eyes tearing right through Yuri, “who are you trying to be right now?”

To his merit, Yuri actually considered the question for a moment. Sure, sometimes he consciously decided to be an asshole and keep up the reputation he built for himself - that was what Otabek talked about, right? And on the ice, Lilia had transformed him such that he was the prima ballerina, the most graceful and beautiful thing that had ever graced the ice. For Otabek, he hardly tried to make himself a certain way, most of the time. And, well, for the other part, “someone you’d like.” Yuri had been startlingly honest and open.

Otabek looked like he was glowing in the light from the street. “Yuri, you don’t have to try for that.” Yuri exhaled, closing his eyes and then opening him again. His day had been more grueling than the longest day of drills, but in a completely different way. Contorting his body and forcing it through hours of backbreaking moves was entirely physical, while the raw feelings ripping through him were entirely emotional.

In seconds, Yuri was much closer to Otabek, but he hadn’t consciously directed his feet to take him there. “Otabek,” he breathed, the excess of emotions ripping through him. This close, he could feel the warmth of the other skater’s breath. His hand reached out timidly to touch the leather of his jacket.

“Can I kiss you?” Otabek’s voice was suddenly gruff. Yuri laughed and his breath caught in his throat.

“I didn’t ask,” Yuri said breathlessly. He wished Otabek would just do it and not draw it out and make it so much harder. Otaebk looked at him with an unmoving gaze. Yuri clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. “Yes,” he finally whispered, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Otabek’s mouth was covering his.

The kiss was long, deep, and terrifying when compared to the one from the previous night because this time, Yuri was entirely sober - though he didn’t feel like it - and he actually asked for it.

Inside, the waitress glanced out into the parking lot. “Ooh,” she said, calling out to her friend, “where do you think i can find myself a boyfriend like that?”

——————

This time, Yuri and Otabek were spread across his bed instead of cramped in a tiny chair. Otabek was flat on his back, laying fairly straight, and Yuri was flopped out across him with his head resting on his stomach. “Your stomach’s too hard to be a good pillow,” Yuri complained. When Otabek laughed, Yuri could feel the movement going through his abdomen. Otabek’s hand tangled itself in Yuri’s light golden hair.

“Will you manage?” Otabek asked sleepily, though the hint of humor still remained. Yuri glanced up to see that his eyes were closed.

“I think so,” he said. It was an understatement: if every night was like this, kissing until his lips were numb and then falling into bed and to sleep with someone, then he’d be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, guys, this ship is too good to let die. 
> 
> I hope this chapter was at least okay-ish?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what Yuri's free skate music is when you reach that point in the chapter, I imagine it being something a lot like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHqtJH2f1Yk
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day, Yuri was at practice early with a smug smile on his face. Earlier in the week, he called his doctor to ask for early release to skate without any jumps or spins. The email with his doctor’s permission came in the early hours of the morning. Even if it hadn’t, Yuri might have forged one anyway. Yuri carried his bag into the locker rooms and began to put on his skates. In just over a week, he had almost forgotten how they felt. The transition from skating hours a day to not skating at all was rough. 

“How do you think you’ll do today?” Otabek asked from beside him. When Yuri first woke to see the good news, Otabek was the first person who had heard. Their morning was spent together, too, through breakfast and the walk to the rink. 

Yuri slid on the right boot and laced it while speaking. “It’s not like I’m going to be actually doing anything. I’ll just be on the ice.”

“And your ankle? You haven’t said anything about it.”

That was true. Though his ankle still nearly constantly sore and ached terribly if he managed to turn it in a certain direction, he didn’t speak of it often. Skating had taught him pain. Some days after practice (particularly on drill days), Yuri wondered if he would be able to walk back to Lilia’s apartment. The worst was when he just got his new boots fitted and had to skate overtime to break them in. It had taken days for his feet to feel normal again.

“I’m used to it by now.” Otabek nodded. Yuri slid on his other boot. Even though the bench was many feet long, he sat directly beside Otabek, their thighs nearly touching. The closeness was maddening. Each time he saw Viktor with Katsudon, he felt like retching, but Yuri felt a draw to be close to Otabek now, too. The difference was that he wasn’t likely to start calling Otabek pet names on the ice - that was fucking gross, he decided. 

“I’m working on quads today. I’ve been missing them lately.” 

“Fuck,” Yuri acknowledged. Quad days were the worst. Otabek stood to leave for the ice. Yuri grappled for something to say, remembering Viktor’s advice from months ago. “You’re always so sour,” Viktor complained, “why don’t you try being nice?” “Hey, Otabek,” he said, “Good luck.”

Otabek smiled. “I was going to wait for you, Yuri,” he said. 

“Oh.” Yuri replied. He hurriedly laced his other skate then quickly stood to meet him. Or, at least, he attempted to. His hurt ankle was having nothing of standing and decided that he should fall to the floor instead. “Dammit,” Yuri groaned, pushing himself up. Otabek was beside him in an instant, pulling him off the floor. 

“Are you hurt?” Otabek asked with an intensity that initially scared Yuri.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just tripped, it’s fine.” Yuri didn’t mention the fire burning through his ankle. Otabek would never let him on the ice if he knew that, so Yuri smiled to reinforce his point. Georgi walked in at that moment, catching the sight of Otabek still stabilizing Yuri. Otabek calmly removed his hold on the younger skater. 

“Just don’t trip on the ice,” Otabek told him. 

Georgi glanced over. “What, are you skating today? I thought you still had a few days left.”

“I did, but I’m cleared now.” Yuri explained, his voice making clear he wasn’t interested in talking about it any more.

“Oh. Okay. Don’t fall again,” Georgi said. 

Don’t be a little bitch again, Yuri retorted mentally, saving the comment because he was beside Otabek. 

Without any more exchanges, Yuri walked out to the rink. He didn’t take pause to tell Yakov because his coach was also a recipient of the email. At the door, Yuri slowed for a moment. The longest he had ever been without skating since he had first started was three days, but this time it had been ten. Skating was becoming more difficult than it had been already with his occasional growth spurts throwing off his jumps. The last thing he needed was an injury. Yuri forced himself out on the ice, finding more solace in just gliding across the slippery smooth surface than he ever expected to. During his first glance up, Yuri saw that Otabek was already at the other side of the rink, throwing himself into a jump while Yakov watched on. 

Yuri longed to fall back into the familiarity of his own jumps in the program he was working on with Lilia. Instead, he fished his phone and earbuds out of his pocket and pulled up his free skate music. Yuri closed his eyes and stood in his beginning position, feeling the first notes roll through his body. It was a strong, loud beginning. He launched himself into the program, avoiding the jump and steps that he planned throughout, instead focusing on the interpretive movements.

“Last season, you were the prima ballerina on the court of the ice. You seized the gold. This year, you are its king, and your program will serve that status. It’s terrible and beautiful. Make it your program. This is you,” Lilia had yelled over the music the first time he had skated to it. 

Yuri tried to feel that down to his core as he skated the motions of the program again and again and again. The music looped endlessly, but Yuri didn’t grow bored of it. He was immersed in the program entirely. If he couldn’t work on the jumps, he would beat the hell out of his presentation in the meantime. 

Yuri didn’t stop until the others began to leave the ice. Yakov had sent them out of the rink for the day, doubtlessly. But he wasn’t ready to go. Now, the whole of the ice was his. Yuri skated his program mercilessly one last time. 

He ran through the program, regretting each jump that he had to withhold. As the end of his program came, Yuri felt his self control slipping and he launched up into the final jump, coming down to end in a spin that he also allowed. He finished, skating to the center of the ice and striking his end pose. The music faded and he fell to his knees on the ice. His chest heaved up and down. He’d given everything he had and was entirely spent. Yuri stopped the music and pulled the earbuds from his ears, then made himself get up from his knees. Yuri skated to the edge of the ice, still trying to regain his breath when he caught sight of Otabek sitting on a nearby bench, already out of his skates. Everyone else had cleared the arena except him. 

“You jumped,” Otabek said. 

“Congratulations,” Yuri said breathlessly, “you managed to point out the obvious.” There was no malice in his words.

“The jump might have been stupid, but the program will be phenomenal,” Otabek said as he stood. Yuri nodded his thanks as he continued rasped for air. He felt a water bottle being slipped into his hand. Without any words of thanks or any pause at all, really, Yuri began to drink greedily. Only when the entire contents of the bottle had been drained did he give Otabek’s bottle back.

“Thank you,” Yuri gasped. He was thankful for the silence as he walked back to the locker rooms. It allowed him to catch his breath. Yuri dropped down onto the bench and hastily untied his skates while Otabek watched. Now that he could breathe, he noticed the throbbing in both his feet, but particularly the injured one. He groaned loudly as he rubbed his sore feet. Yuri was positive that beneath the socks that he didn’t dare to peel off, there would be the beginnings of a handful of blisters. He gingerly pulled on his shoes, not caring to disturb his feet until he got back to Lilia’s. 

“I’ve never seen anyone skate like that, Yuri,” Otabek said. 

Yuri laughed humorlessly. “There was virtually no technical difficulty until the last jump,” he said. 

“No, I’m not talking about the jumps. You just kept going again and again, and each time you started again, you improved. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to stop,” Otabek said. 

“Of course,” Yuri said, forcing himself to his feet with a small grimace. “Now I have interests off the ice, too.” His expression changed with his words as he offered a smile to Otabek. He closed the remaining distance between their bodies, and, when they kissed, he decided that he didn’t mind PDA, after all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I wanted to make this chapter really nice, and I also am now juggling this fic with starting back at school. 
> 
> Also, I'd love to thank each and every single one of you that leave comments and kudos. It's so lovely to think that you all are enjoying this little thing I'm putting together here. Even though I don't have the time to respond to them now, know that I read each comment - typically way more than once - and they get me through writing the tougher parts of a chapter. 
> 
> Now that all that's said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

When Otabek wrote, it looks like every word was an artfully drawn autograph. Yuri groaned.

“Why do you have to be so goddamned perfect?” Yuri complained, eliciting a scowl from an older woman passing by. He and Otabek were sitting on a bench outside a market in thick bundles of clothes. Yakov had caught him on his way out of practice and insisted on a reverse curfew. Instead of demanding Yuri be home by a certain hour, Yakov had insisted that Yuri - and Otabek, for that matter - were not to return to Lilia’s apartment until after 23:00. To pass the time, Yuri had busied himself taking Otabek through his favorite places in Saint Petersburg. After hours of walking through the streets, they stopped to rest after shopping.

In glistening black ink, the word “watermelon” had been drawn out with Otabek’s new calligraphy pen on the back of his receipt. “How would you prefer me to write?” Otabek asked with a smile.

“I don’t know, maybe like a regular human?” Yuri said while rolling his eyes, though really he was somewhat intrigued by the beauty of the lettering. “How did you learn to do that?” Yuri paused. “Wait, actually, don’t answer that. Let me guess. Demanding parents?”

Otabek capped the pen and slipped it into his pocket. “You have no idea.”

Yuri considered that for a moment. Just as Otabek said, he really didn’t have any idea whatsoever. Yuri never met his father - never even knew his name, for that matter - and his mother had left him in his grandfather’s custody when she moved to Italy for one of her boyfriends. Yuri was the one who had initiated his ice skating lessons, begging for them for a birthday present after seeing Olympic figure skating on TV. While his grandfather always supported him, he never demanded anything. “No,” Yuri agreed, “I don’t.” He twisted around on the bench to face Otabek. “Tell me about it.”

Otabek looked at Yuri once as if to check if he was being serious before speaking. “Back in Kazakhstan, My parents were farmers their whole lives. They spent a big part of my early childhood working hard to earn money. When they had enough,they took their lives’ savings and moved us to Almaty. Then they used the rest to give me the life they wanted. If there was a registration list for some sport or club or class like calligraphy, my name was always on it. Skating just happens to be what stuck.”

Yuri considered this for a moment. “So, what I’m getting from this is that you have a whole bunch of undiscovered talents?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” Otabek allowed. He began to crumple the receipt in his hand, but Yuri reach over and snatched it up first. “What are you doing?” Otabek asked, “I was going to throw that away, it’s trash.”

“No,” Yuri protested, smoothing out the few wrinkles in the paper, “I’m keeping it.”

“It says watermelon,” Otabek deadpanned, but he was smiling a smile that reached his eyes.

“Okay, but it says watermelon beautifully. I want it,” Yuri insisted.

“I can make you something nicer if you w-“

“No, I want this one.”

Otabek laughed, raising his hands a little as if in surrender. “Fine, it’s yours.” Yuri carefully folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

“Don’t think this has you off the hook, though. I want to get back to the other conversation, learn more about you.”

“Like what?” Otabek asked.

“Anything you’ll tell me,” Yuri said with a grin.

“That doesn’t narrow it down at all,” Otabek said, “I’m not really sure that there’s anything I wouldn’t share.” In Yuri’s mind, this became a challenge.

“Oh, yeah? What’s your most embarrassing moment?” Yuri asked.

Otabek responded without hesitation. “There’s only one time I can remember ever being embarrassed. I first moved to Canada to skate when I was sixteen. I had a new coach that wanted me to try pair skating, and he matched me with one of his skaters, a girl named Sarah, I think. When I showed up at the rink to meet her on the first day, I was trying really hard to be impressive. I saw her skating videos online and I knew that she was good. But the second I got on the ice for the first time, I face planted. Sarah refused to talk to me after that, and it was the end of my pair skating career.”

Yuri laughed, imaging the look that must have crossed Otabek’s typically calmly set face when he fell. “Yeah, that’s… pretty bad. But really, that’s the only time?”

“Yep. I do stupid things sometimes, but I remember that everyone tends to do stupid things, so I don’t really pay any large amount of attention unless it’s particularly idiotic,” Otabek said. “It is interesting, though, to see you get so flustered sometimes.”

Yuri frowned, knowing that Otabek was probably thinking back to their dinner. “I don’t get flustered.” Otabek didn’t challenge the claim verbally, but the half smile on his face spoke for him. “I get embarrassed - occasionally. And always justifiably.”

“Yeah?” Otabek asked, a bit of curiosity in his eyes. “Was I the first person you’ve kissed?”

“W-what?” Yuri sputtered, “of fucking course you weren’t the first person I’ve kissed.”

Otabek blinked, seemingly unbothered by Yuri’s words as always. “See,” he said, proving his point, “flustered.” Not one to be bested, Yuri tried to think of something that could crack through Otabek’s typically stoic exterior. “If you’re trying to embarrass me, it’s not going to work,” Otabek offered though he knew that his comment fell on deaf ears.

“Have you been with a guy before?” Yuri asked, though he only succeeded in making himself redder,

“Yes. And a girl, too, before you work yourself up to ask that one. Canada really was a different place for me, but I’m not really bothered by it. I won’t keep any secrets,”

Yuri was somehow unsurprised at the confession, but he chose to move on, treat it as nonchalantly as Otabek had. He chose to focus on the last of his words. “But you never liked to talk to any of the other skaters at events, or even the press,” Yuri tried.

“No,” Otabek acknowledged, “but you aren’t the press.”

Deciding to be brave, Yuri composed his face and mind and asked, “so, what am I to you?”

Otabek paused to consider his question. “Depends. As it stands right now, you’re my short-term roommate who I kiss and spend time with. But if you would rather me call you my boyfriend, I might be able to manage.” Yuri caught an unfamiliar gleam of uncharacteristic excitement in Otabek’s eyes. Anyone else might have missed it, but after having spoken with Otabek for a couple years, Yuri caught the change.

Yuri’s emotions burst through for a single moment, replacing his look of surprise with a smile. “I’d like that, I think.”

——————

It seemed like for every person, Yuri Plisetsky was someone different. In Lilia Baranovskaya’s eyes, he was still the prima ballerina of the ice even after falling to silver in his second senior Grand Prix Final. To Yakov, he was the prodigy student. His fans and followers saw him as the Fairy of Russia, or, if they were being tolerable, its Ice Tiger. Of all the versions of himself, Yuri liked the one he gave to Otabek the most. With Otabek, he always had fun and never felt like he was being treated as either inferior or as if he was being seen through the glass of a zoo enclosure like some sort of think to be gawked at. Otabek made him feel real, like someone that he actually wanted to be.

It was that realization that made kissing Otabek feel so different to Yuri. Before, there had been lust, but never a deeper, all encompassing desire that he began to feel. He didn’t just want Otabek for kissing - no, Yuri wanted him for the way he laughed at a stupid joke, his soft smile when he woke up in the morning, the Kazakh words that sounded like a song when he spoke them into a phone, and the way their body felt when pressed together.

“Ever get bored of kissing?” Yuri breathed into Otabek’s neck. As soon as they got back to the apartment and found themselves alone, Yuri and Otabek had gone straight to his room. Almost immediately, Yuri’s back was against the wall and Otabek’s open mouth was on his, and the time that had passed since then had been spent in pure bliss.

“I don’t get bored of you,” came the other skater’s reply, though his voice was noticeably thicker.

“Good,” Yuri replied. He vaguely remembered making some terrible, half drunken attempt at going farther the first time he kissed Otabek, but it was doomed to fail as he had been verging on too drunk to function. “So you wouldn’t mind more?”

Otabek’s response sent a shiver dancing down his spine. “Not if it’s with you.”

The words lit something within Yuri that exploded, making him crazy with the sudden need for more. In a single moment, he was pushed back into the wall and Otabek’s hands were tugging at the hem of his shirt. It fell to the floor, and Yuri was maddened with the desire to feel bare skin against his. As if registering it in some sort of crazy sixth sense, Otabek slid out of his own shirt easily, exposing an expanse of muscled golden skin.

“Still want more?” Otabek asked, his voice husky.

“Is that a question?” came Yuri’s breathless response.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The direction of this chapter wasn't entirely planned to go this way but I figured I should live up to what the comments asked for and the M rating on this fic. This is my first jab at anything close to smut, so I hope that it turned out okay! 
> 
> **NOTE**: Regarding aging/underage tags: In this fic, Yuri is 17 and Otabek is 20. It is not tagged underage as the age of consent in both Russia and Kazakhstan is 16. Hope that clears up questions anyone might have about this!

“I thought you said that you didn’t have any secrets,” Yuri said with a half smile as he stole a long glance at Otabek’s chest.

“Hm?” Otabek asked, still caught up in the kisses. Otabek smiled, thinking that it was the most classical Yuri thing to try to talk through this. His eyes met Yuri’s, who seemed to be staring at his bared torso. “Oh,” he said, understanding suddenly, “you never asked if I had any tattoos.” Sure enough, black ink in the form of some large piece covered Otabek’s upper shoulder in a design that Yuri was too distracted to identify. “And, to be fair, you also never asked me to undress for you.”

Yuri was floored. He didn’t imagine that Otabek even had a side like this - so alluring and demanding of every last ounce of his attention. Otabek’s hand was on his lower back, pulling him closer and Yuri was rendered speechless at the touch. 

When Yuri skated, he dominated the ice, but he was reduced and undone so quickly by mere touch. His body practically hummed with the raw, unbridled energy flowing through him. The second between the final moment of space between their bodies and eventual contact felt eternal. But suddenly, Yuri was sent right back into his pit of passion when their lips connected again. 

Otabek’s hands slid downward, and the only thing Yuri was capable of doing was holding on with white knuckles to the Kazakh’s shoulders. “Is this okay?” Otabek mumbled in the space between his jaw and ear. The hot breath on his skin made Yuri forget his own name. For a moment, Otabek mistook his fumbling for words as hesitation and began to pull back.

“Fuck yes, it’s okay” Yuri managed, pulling Otabek back towards him. The constant breaks in touch felt like torture. “Please,” he whispered, his voice desperate as Otabek moved his hands down his body again but slower, more tantalizingly. 

Yuri could have cried when Otabek dropped down to his knees in front of him. Not breaking eye contact, Otabek raised a hand to the button on Yuri’s jeans. Yuri was painfully aroused and only became more so at the sight. He was sure the image of Otabek would color far too many of his thoughts for the next few months at least. 

The other hand slid down his body at an excruciating pace. “Otabek,” Yuri said, the word coming from his mouth almost like a growl, “Please.”

In a single movement, the button was open and the zipper was down. Otabek was too good at this, Yuri decided. Otabek started tugged his jeans downwards. Yuri kicked off his shoes as the pants came down, pushing both his sneakers and the discarded garment aside with the edge of his foot. 

Both literally and figuratively, Yuri never felt more exposed in his life. Not only was he buried deep in his state of non-casual undress, but he also felt incredibly vulnerable. Yuri was extremely aware of just how he blossomed under Otabek’s touch. There was no time to be anything but completely overwhelmed by the new feelings racing through his body. 

His fingers tangled themselves in Otabek’s thick black hair, tightening and pulling on the strands when a kiss was placed on his abdomen. Otabek’s lips expertly traveled lower, and it took all of Yuri’s willpower to not fall over at the sensation. Never in a million years would he have guessed Otabek could have been so perfect at this. 

Suddenly, Viktor’s words from almost three years ago slipped into his mind. “Pleasure followed by pleasure. One just drowns in it.” No matter how much he liked the Eros version of On Love those years ago, he had no true understanding of it at 15. But now….

Fingers were latched on to his hips with a foreign gentleness that Yuri feared would shatter him. “What do you want, Yura?” Otabek asked, his lips stopping dangerously close to the band of his underwear. 

Yuri was immensely impressed that he’d managed to speak at all before, so the fact that he whispered a “you,” - quiet and longing as it might have sounded - was a feat in itself.

Otabek rose up quickly to Yuri’s mouth, too quickly, in fact, because their noses bumped and their teeth clashed. Otabek laughed his easy, warm smile, and suddenly, Yuri felt all the reassurance in the world. 

Otabek wasn’t perfect. Sometimes, he was too quiet, too reserved. He was frustratingly slow when it came to getting out the door in the morning, and, when back in Kazakhstan, sometimes fell asleep in the middle of phone calls. But those things - the little bumps in their kisses, the tiny flaws - they made Otabek human, and desirable and comfortable to be around. 

A little less awkwardly this time, their lips met and Yuri was at Otabek’s mercy. After what seemed like a millennia of waiting for the very moment, a hand slipped downward to palm him through his underwear. The resulting noise that came ripping out of Yuri was nothing short of obscene.

“Your pants,” Yuri rasped. Otabek easily complied, shifting off his pants with one hand while he worked Yuri with the other. 

There was more bare skin than clothed, It was an intoxicating feel, the intimate brush of Otabek’s warm skin against his, sending sparks at every point of contact. 

“Bed?” Yuri asked, to which Otabek responded by directing them backwards. Yuri hit the mattress first, sinking deep into the foam under their combined weight. His golden hair splayed out across the sheets and blankets beneath him, and the flush on his cheeks worked with the look in his eyes to create the picture of some sort of heavenly creature. 

He pulled out of his own thoughts enough to reach for Otabek, to dare to slide his hand not above, but beneath the underwear of the other skater. With nothing left to hold back, Yuri allowed the last two articles of clothing joined the heap on the floor. The only thing between their bodies now were the particles of air.

It felt better than anything he’d ever experienced. Yuri was both terrified and enamored, desperate and delighted. He was more awake than he had ever been in his life. 

He and Otabek pawed at each other greedily, or hungrily, even. Yuri had never touched anyone but himself before, and while his hand was moving without any experience, it was still pushing Otabek close to the edge. He was nearly there himself. White hot tension burned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to push him past the point of no return. The kisses were no longer calculated, coordinated things, but instead sloppy attempts at closeness. 

Yuri twisted his wrist, evoking a “Fuck, Yura” from Otabek. It was the first time he ever heard the Kazakh say the word, and it was endlessly perfect that it happened to be in joint with his name, almost like a prayer.

“Otabek…” Yuri gasped, his vision blurring white and the sounds around him fading, “I’m going to-“ 

His words came just a moment too late, though, and he came with an unrestricted moan into Otabek’s hand. While he was still attempting to regain himself in the moments following immediately after, Yuri felt Otabek lurch in his hand, and then he, too, had come undone at last.

They lay side by side in the still darkness for a moment, the only disruption to the perfect calm their slowing pants of exertion as they attempted to catch their breath. If it weren’t for the mess, Yuri could have laid there forever.

Instead of indulging himself, he turned his head to look at Otabek, who had his eyes shut. “Beka,” he murmured, his voice sounding worlds different than it had earlier, “we should shower now.” 

Otabek’s eyes opened. “Together?” he asked, an extremely unlikely lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Duh,” Yuri supplied, forcing himself off the warm bed and upwards into the cooler surrounding air, “Yakov still isn’t home, and I don’t plan to waste any time while you’re here.”

Otabek laughed once before he sat up. “I didn’t think you’d approach everything as relentlessly as you do skating,” he said, making his way into the dimly lit bathroom. 

“I don’t,” Yuri supplied as he followed his boyfriend, pulling the bathroom door shut behind them. He walked to the shower and turned on the water as hot as the knobs allowed. The water shot down from overhead in tiny, scalding streams that began to steam up the bathroom only moments after being turned on. Yuri turned back to face Otabek, and, in doing that, caught the view in the oversized mirror hanging above the sink. The sight sent a blush to Yuri’s cheeks that he’d later blame on the temperature of the water. Yuri slid open the glass door to the shower and stepped back to invite Otabek in.

“I’m only relentless with the things I’m passionate about,” he admitted as the Kazakh entered the shower. Here, upright and in a confined face, any intimate feeling was multiplied exponentially. 

“God,” Otabek mumbled, stepping forward, “if I would have known you would say that, I would’ve tried this out a long time ago.”

Yuri laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t have said that a long time ago. Your ass is lucky that you heard it now.”

“So no chance of a repeat, then?” 

“You gotta earn them,” Yuri challenged

“Hm,” Otabek replied with a nearly sleepy smile. They were both far too spent to go farther or to make a second attempt, but it didn’t stop them from exchanging a few more sleepy kisses under the hot rivets of water, or, later, slipping into bed together and falling asleep with bodies as entangled as their hearts.


	14. Chapter 14

Being with Otabek was fantastic, Yuri decided. There was an ease to their relationship that made no harsh demands of either of them.

If simply being with Otabek was fantastic, then _being_ with him was phenomenal. The pleasure they shared was unbelievable, like nothing Yuri had ever felt before. He could have spent days - no, years - moaning into Otabek’s shoulder, raking his nails down his back so hard that he was sure he left marks.

But, to Yuri, better than either of those things was the mere pleasure of waking up with Otabek Altin, of all people, in his bed beside him. Though they shared a bed once before, Yuri barely remembered a minute of it, and beyond that, he’d woken up alone. This time, though, he indulged on the sight of a sleeping Otabek.

Long black eyelashes brushed caramel colored cheeks, and the lips that were so often set in a hard line were slightly opened and relaxed. Yuri’s emerald eyes raked across Otabek’s naked torso. His eyes focused on the tattoo that he hadn’t gotten the chance to admire before. Upon closer inspection, Yuri found that the tattoo was real art, not just some horrendous design. A sun shone from behind jagged mountain peaks capped in snow. It was without a doubt a homage to his home country. He learned that Otabek had been forced to travel away from home often, despite his hero status there and his love for the country. Whenever Otabek spoke about Kazakhstan, his eyes took on a dreamy look as if he was in an entirely different place. The tattoo made Yuri smile softly. Of course Otabek would have a patriotic tattoo. His hand drifted above the tattooed shoulder, then finally he dared to brush the skin with his finger.

Otabek’s skin was so warm, like he was the sun himself. Yuri scooted closer until he felt their bodies touching. His fingers lazily traced the crisp, beautiful lines of the tattoo with increasing interest. Yuri used only a feather light touch to brush across Otabek’s skin, but he could still feel the smooth surface and the very hints of the hard muscle beneath.

It occurred to him that he never thought of someone as so earth shatteringly beautiful before. Sure, he could pick out who looked nice and who didn’t, but he never felt so attracted to one’s looks before. Yuri would gladly have stared at his body forever, ran his fingers through his black hair, or looked into his eyes that were always deep pools of endless, carefully guarded emotion. When Yuri looked up to find them, he saw they were staring into his.

Yuri sat up abruptly in a mix of surprise and a little bit of embarrassment. Otabek smiled the sleepy smile with half lidded eyes that drove him up the wall and reach out a hand to pull Yuri back. “Yura” Otabek mumbled, “what were you thinking about?”

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. He lay back down, curling slightly into Otabek’s side. To anyone else, he would have barked a “nothing!” angrily, but instead he smiled and replied candidly. “You,” he whispered into Otabek’s side. Otabek smiled and made some sort of contented hum. His fingers reach around to tangle themselves in Yuri’s tangled locks of shoulder length hair.

“The damn tangles make me wanna cut it all off,” he said sleepily as he felt Otabek’s fingers move to avoid a large knot.

“Don’t do that,” Otabek protested, “I like your hair like this. It suits you,”

Yuri smiled into his touch. “If you keep doing this, I might never get out of bed.” Otabek gave a knowing nod. They were both too serious about skating to be late for practice. Slowly, they untangled their bodies and climbed out of bed.

The cool air bit Yuri’s bare skin the moment he was out of the reach of the warm covers. After showering the night before, they both only had the care to wear underwear. All modesty was thrown out the window.

Yuri checked the time on his phone. “We have some time before practice, you know. We could squeeze in a run now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yuri dug around in his drawers as he searched for clothing. The room was dark as neither skater had bothered to turn on the light yet. After a few moments of digging, he slid on some pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a hoodie. When he turned around to glance at Otabek, a smile crossed his face.

“What?” Otabek asked.

“You’re wearing my shirt, idiot,” Yuri said. And Otabek was - one of his favorite, softest shirts that so happened to fall out of Yuri’s laundry pile into Otabek’s small suitcase of clothes. Although Otabek was two years his senior, Yuri had a few inches on him and expected to gain more.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice,” Otabek apologized. He stretched a large arm behind his head to pull the shirt off his back. Yuri almost let it happen simply so he could watch Otabek dress again.

“Don’t worry. Keep it,” Yuri said.

——————

Yuri and Otabek sat side by side on the metro. Practice had been a bitch. After their run, Yuri and Otabek had endured a day of hell at the rink. Yuri felt sore in muscles that he never thought of as existing. He leaned his head against the glass of the train car.

“I can’t wait to get back,” Yuri said to Otabek, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I have a feeling that Lilia’s going to keep bitching at me over that jump.”

“To be fair,” Otabek said neutrally, “it was against doctor’s orders. But you’re right, she is being harsh.” He was quiet for a moment but had a thoughtful look in his eyes, like he was thinking hard about something. After a moment, he glanced at Yuri. “I found an apartment.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I found this apartment online. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. Lilia and Yakov were generous to let me stay, and it’s already been almost a week.”

“Oh,” Yuri said. The train rolled to a stop at their station, and he shuffled out of the car in a hoard of people. He forgot that Otabek was only a temporary guest at Lilia’s home. Yuri had fallen into an easy routine with Otabek, and he just finally managed to get somewhere for the first time in his life, but his time was being cut short.

Saint Petersburg was loud and bustling in the packed metro, too hectic for any hopes of meaningful communication. Once they were out of the station and on a quieter road, Otabek glanced over to Yuri.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Otabek said firmly, an intense look in his eyes.

Yuri stared straight ahead. The growing ache of sadness blossoming in his chest wasn’t something he anticipated. “Yeah, it does. I don’t get to wake up with you in my bed anymore.” Yuri knew he was being melodramatic. He and Otabek weren’t splitting up, and they would still spend most of their days together. Yuri just worried about losing the nights.

“I’m sure Yakov would let you stay over sometimes,” Otabek offered.

“Yakov doesn’t have to let me do shit,” Yuri replied.

Otabek probably took as his typical moodiness. “Doesn’t he, though? You’re 17 and live with him, so isn’t he your guardian?”

Yuri laughed. “No.” After his senior debut in the Grand Prix Final, he had a gold medal around his neck and a sixteenth birthday under his belt. The advertising deals came flooding in, along with paid interviews and appearances. Yuri had more money than a teenager could ever dream of. “My grandpa had custody of me until I was 16, but since I was in a ‘business arrangement’ with Yakov and had enough money to support myself or some crazy shit like that, I got emancipated.”

“So why do you still live with Yakov and Lilia?”

“I don’t know. Grandpa lives in Moscow, and there wasn’t anyone else to stay with.” Yuri took a sip of the coffee that was finally cool enough to drink after nursing the cup for his entire metro ride.

As if making any other reply, Otabek casually said, “So, why don’t you just come stay with me then?”

Yuri spat out his coffee and nearly dropped the cup. “Are you fucking serious?” Yuri choked out.

“Yeah? I mean, why not? Having you as a roommate would be nice. Rent would be cheaper, and you wouldn’t have to live with Lilia.”

Otabek made the offer so casually, like he was asking for a drink of Yuri’s coffee or some shit instead of asking his boyfriend to move in. Yuri stopped walking, his jaw hanging slack. “You’re really fucking serious,” he said incredulously.

Otabek stopped walking, too, and looked back at Yuri, tensing visibly. “I’m sorry if that was too forward or sudden, I just thought that maybe you would wan-“

Yuri cut off Otabek’s words by stepping forward and eliminating all distance between their bodies. He didn’t take the time to care that he was in the middle of Saint Petersburg where anyone could have a camera. Instead, he pressed his lips to Otabek’s in a deep, long kiss that took every ounce of his breath away.

When he pulled back, his emerald eyes gleamed in the fading light of the dusk. “When do we move in?” Yuri asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys don't have any idea how long I've been waiting to write this. I was so excited to write this little moment for you all, and I'm even more excited to write the ones that follow.
> 
> Let me know what you think! My plans for the following chapters are loose at best, so I'm always open to suggestions and I really love getting feedback :)


	15. Chapter 15

Yuri waited until Yakov was walking out of the rink and headed to his office before he forced himself to walk over. “Hey, Yakov!” he called as he stepped out of the rink.

“You still have two minutes of practice,” Yakov said tiredly, but he still stopped. “What do you need?” Yuri popped the guards onto his blades and walked over. He didn’t want to shout his business across the room, not that his nosy rinkmates wouldn’t find out eventually.

“Otabek is moving out today,” Yuri said. 

“Why are you wasting my time telling me things I know?”

“Because I hadn’t mentioned before that I’m going with him.” 

“YOU’RE MOVING IN WITH ALTIN AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?” Yakov boomed, his voice carrying through the air and to the ice. Multiple heads snapped to look in their direction. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yuri said through gritted teeth, “I’m telling you right now.”

“Couldn’t you have said something say, a week ago?”

A week ago, Yuri didn’t know he was moving out. “No. I didn’t know then.”

“Don’t think that just because you’re emancipated that you have to move out.”

“I don’t. I’m moving out because I want to.”

Yakov glowered for a moment. “Are you with him, Yuri?” 

Yuri gritted his teeth. He could feel the eyes of all the skaters suddenly interested in the rink door on him. He hadn’t officially told anyone yet. “Yes.” He said quietly. 

Yakov closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “We’ll talk later,” he said lowly. Yakov turned to walk off. “Best skater decides to up move out like that, Christ,” he mumbled to himself as he left the arena. Yuri watched him leave.

He stood staring at the door until a hand came flying downwards and wrapped itself around his shoulders. The strong scent of vanilla gave away Mila’s identity before she was shouting full volume in his ear. 

“Way to score, Yuri! First relationship and you’re already moving in. I didn’t even know you guys were dating!” she gushed. Yuri peeled her off though it did nothing to phase her. Otabek stepped out of the rink and instantly became her next target. “Hey, Otabek!!” she called, “I’ve shared enough hotel rooms with Yurio to know he’s a light sleeper, so watch out for that!”

“He already knows that, idiot,” Yuri said, only realizing his mistake after speaking. Mila’s mouth formed an o shape. Thankfully, everyone else ignored the comment. 

The Japanese Yuuri smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure he’ll come around, Yurio,” he said in somewhat broken Russian, “He’s probably just worried that you’ll gain weight like Viktor did when he came to Hasetsu.”

“On the contrary, Yuuri,” Viktor said with a sultry smile, throwing an arm around his husband’s shoulder, “I remember both of us losing weight after you moved to St. Petersburg.”

Yuri stared blankly for a moment as he failed to understand. “What the hell are you- Oh, fuck, you’re gross as hell.” 

Yuri caught Otabek’s eyes. He looked unaffected by the whole situation.

“When are you moving?” Georgi asked.

“Tonight.” 

Mila’s eyes looked as if they were on the verge of popping out of her head. “You’re moving tonight? Is your stuff even packed?”

“No.” Yuri said.

“We don’t have any furniture or anything, so there isn’t much to move. Just a carload of boxes,” Otabek supplied, walking to stand by Yuri. In the past days, he had warmed up to his new rink mates and spoke more than he had.

“Do you need someone to drive your stuff?” Viktor asked.

Otabek nodded. “That’s generous of you, Viktor. The furniture is already being delivered, so it shouldn’t be much. You’re sure?”

Viktor beamed. “Of course! Anything for the happy couple~” 

“We’re leaving,” Yuri announced. Without thinking, he grabbed Otabek’s hand and started off in the direction of the door.

“AH!” Mila exclaimed, “Our little Yuri is growing up!” 

“Fucking hell,” Yuri grumbled to himself, then said to Otabek, “sorry that all my rinkmates are morons.” Despite the tone in his voice, he was still holding Otabek’s hand and both wore the beginnings of a smile.

—————— 

Brown cardboard boxes littered every surface in Yuri’s room. When Otabek came, he only had two suitcases of things. The rest was to be shipped from Kazakhstan when he moved into an apartment. Yuri, on the other hand, had a massive closet full of clothing and a smattering of other personal belongings. 

Yuri pulled a drawer from his dresser, carried it to the nearest box, and unceremoniously dumped all its contents. Meanwhile, Otabek neatly folded and stacked a large pile of his jeans, packing them perfectly into a box. “Do you wear all these clothes?” he asked Yuri.

“Of course not, how could I?” Yuri replied. He tossed his laptop into the top of the box. 

“Have you ever thought about donating them?” Otabek asked. Yuri had not.

“You don’t donate Versace, Otabek.” 

Otabek laughed a deep chuckle. “Should’ve told me that a few months ago,” he said calmly as he started in on the next drawer.

“YOU BETTER BE FUCKING JOKING, ALTIN!” Yuri exclaimed, his jaw hanging. 

He heard someone clear his throat and turned around. Yakov stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Yakov asked dryly, already stepping out of the door and walking down the hallway. 

“No,” Yuri said, moving to follow his coach. He turned back to Otabek, “would you mind finishing up?”

Otabek shook his head, and Yuri followed Yakov down the hall. Large and rather expensive looking oil paintings decorated the scarlet walls. Lilia’s home screamed wealth, making her background as a prima ballerina very obvious. The floors were all dark wood, the walls all various jewel tones. It was an incessantly nice home, but the luxury wasn’t something that Yuri would miss. It felt cold and detached, nothing at all like his grandpa’s warm home on the skirts of Moscow. 

Yakov turned a corner, stepping into a sitting room. He dropped into a chair. Yuri just leaned against the wall.

Yakov was quiet for a moment. “Have you told your grandfather about Otabek?” Heat rose in Yuri, but instead of the typical fury he felt, it was something more like deep worry. “I see,” Yakov said quietly when Yuri gave no response. “Do you plan to tell him?”

“Eventually.”

“When, Yuratchka? He’ll see it in the media before he hears it from your mouth.” Yuri had thought about that. While his grandfather had always been endlessly supportive thus far in his life, Yuri wasn’t sure how his grandfather would respond to his relationship. He couldn’t handle his grandfather’s disappointment. 

“I’ll tell him,” Yuri said, his voice louder this time.

Yakov nodded. “I still except you to fully maintain your training. On and off the ice. And, for the love of God, don’t start eating like Viktor did when he went to Japan.”

Yuri blinked. “That’s it? No lecture?” Yakov typically jumped at any chance he got to hand Yuri his ass. 

“Do you want me to yell?”

“Obviously not.”

“Good. I don’t feel like yelling.” Yakov glanced up at him. “I spoke with Viktor earlier and… we think this will be good for you.” Yuri looked stunned as he stepped closer to Yakov. “You aren’t as much of a brat when he’s around. I see you skating harder now, which I also imagine is for him. You’re a ball of fire, Yuri. Otabek cools you down.” 

Yuri nodded once, at first unable to find words. “Thank you,” he managed at least.

“You’d be leaving soon anyway, I imagine. Doesn’t hurt that it’s now.” Yakov settled in his chair. “Now, finish that packing. I won’t have you coming in to practice tomorrow tired because you were up all night trying to get settled in!” 

——————

After multiple elevator trips, Viktor’s car had been loaded. He and Yuuri were to follow Otabek and Yuri on the motorcycle to their new apartment, then move the boxes in. 

The cold air on the street bit through Yuri’s jacket, but he held tight to Otabek, clutching him like he was all the heat in the world. St. Petersburg zipped by a mess of grays and browns obscured by white snow.

Since he was a child, Yuri had no permanent home. His mother juggled him from place to place until he finally moved in with his grandfather to Moscow when he was 11. Shortly thereafter, his skating became serious enough to warrant a move to St. Petersburg. His grandfather couldn’t afford to manage two residences and didn’t want to abandon the family home, so he stayed with an aunt for a while. There had been a series of other moves leading up to Lilia’s, and even though the two years was his longest stake at a place in St. Petersburg, he didn’t feel anchored there. 

Yuri pressed his head against Otabek’s back. Somehow, he already felt much more tethered to the world.

Yuri had never realized that a person could feel like home before.

——————

Once all the boxes were inside and Viktor and Yuuri were off on their way, Yuri and Otabek collapsed on the couch that was still wrapped in plastic. Moving was a much more physical process than Yuri had imagined. Instead of running or going to the gym the next day, he figured moving furniture and unloading boxes would manage to do the same job. 

Yuri rolled over to look at Otabek. Left forgotten in the middle of the floor was a half assembled bed frame framed with scattered screws and tools. “I’m glad I didn’t take up a career in furniture delivery and assembly,” he groaned. Otabek laughed.

“Tired?” Otabek asked. 

Yuri nodded. “I shouldn’t be, but I am.” He peeled himself up from the couch and walked the short distance to the kitchen. Earlier, while Yuri had put together the kitchen table, Otabek ran to a grocery store to stock the fridge. Yuri found an energy drink inside, popped the tab, and drank quickly. “Not that I intend to be later,” he commented with a smirk, causing Otabek’s eyebrow to raise. Otabek, too, stood, and walked into the kitchen, coming to stand directly in front of Yuri. 

Otabek put a hand on Yuri’s hip and pulled, drawing him in close. Yuri bit at his lip, already eager at the thought of what was to come. He bridged the distance and kissed his boyfriend deeply. Yuri sat the can down on the nearby table and used his free hand to touch the light stubble growing on Otabek’s jaw. 

Just as Otabek’s lips slipped away from Yuri’s mouth and moved to his neck, the shrill sound of his phone ringing shattered the silence around them. “Dammit,” Yuri muttered, pulling back and sitting down in a trail angrily. 

Otabek glanced at the screen. “I should take this,” he sighed. Otabek answered in Kazakh. Yuri stood to start unpacking more boxes, knowing very well the moment was gone, but stopped when he heard Otabek’s voice raise in both volume and speed. Yuri turned around with concern, only to see Otabek with a hand fisted in his hair. None of the words flying from his mouth in his native tongue were understandable, but they still frightened Yuri. 

Otabek continued to speak, then Yuri felt his phone begin to ring in his pocket. He very rarely got calls. His stomach twisted as he pulled his phone out and checked the screen. The phone recognized the number and instead listed its contact name: Rude Reporter.

Yuri declined the call and looked at Otabek who began to massage his temples with his fingers, something Yuri had only seen him do once before - and that was when his younger sister had spilled pink paint all over his skates.

Otabek said a few last words, then hung up. Almost afraid to ask, Yuri said, “What’s happened?” On the table, his phone began to buzz again. This time, Stupid Reporter was calling. 

Otabek was still on his phone, furiously typing something in to the web browser. After a moment, he stopped typing and simply looked at the screen. “Otabek, you’re scaring the shit out of me. What’s going on?”

Otabek looked up to Yuri. “A nightmare, hopefully.” Yuri caught a glimpse of his screen, opened to a tabloid website.

“Just some stupid tabloid thing, right? I’ve had those before. It’ll blow over.” Yuri’s words were hopeful at best, but they did nothing to soothe the growing pit of worry consuming him.

“That was my sister calling.” Otabek was silent for a moment, then he began to read a headline in English. “Two Highs: the REAL Reason for the Russian Fairy’s Time off the Ice and the Hero of Kazakhstan’s Move!” 

Otabek tossed his phone onto the table. “Someone’s outed us, but on top of that, they’re accusing us of doping,” he explained in Russian.

Yuri sank down to the tiled floor and fisted his hand in his hair. “Fuck,” he said. “FUCK.” He said, louder this time. Skaters - and Russian skaters in particular - doping weren’t unheard of. Accusations that strong always warranted ISF testing. “The ISF is going to butt the fuck in and ruin my training! And I’m fucking on steroids for this goddamned ankle, so what the hell am I supposed to do if they try to test me?” Yuri stood up and began to pace the floor. Otabek stood still with his head in his hands. “Who the fuck reported this?” Yuri demanded.

Otabek looked up. “That’s why this whole thing is so rich. ‘A report by Valentina Orlov.’”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Yuri asked, exasperated.

When Otabek sighed, it was with his whole body. “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toot toot! All aboard the drama train! 
> 
> >:)


	16. Chapter 16

Not at all surprisingly, Otabek approached the situation with some sort of God-like calmness considering its potential implications. “Your doctor will release something to the ISF, I’m sure. And he can make it clear that you need to be on the ice for practice. Medical records don’t lie, Yuri.” Yuri nodded from his spot on the floor. He was positive that the situation would not be as simple as Otabek painted it, but for the moment he desperately needed some sort of hope to cling to. “We’ll comply and test and be cleared after the your doctor intervenes. The other press will blow over sometime soon.”

 

Realistically, Otabek was at least mostly right. If he didn’t put up a fight with the ISF and acted carefully, the whole ordeal could be behind him in a week. Still, that left all the rage to build inside him. Someone tried to ruin his and Otabek’s career intentionally.

 

“Why would she do this?” Yuri demanded.

 

“It was a bad split,” Otabek said, his voice sounding detached. “For an exact cause, your guess is as good as mine. Generally speaking though, my guess is that she heard I was back and decided to try to make Russia hell for me.”

 

Yuri was quiet for a moment. “So your family heard?”

 

“Yes,” Otabek replied.

 

“Did they know that you’re….?”

 

Otabek nodded. “Sort of.”

 

“What do you mean, sort of?” Yuri demanded.

 

“They know I’ve dated a man before, and they also know that I’ve dated a woman before. You could say they were hoping that since I’m “capable” I would eventually end up with a girl,so they aren’t the thrilled to hear of the current situation.”

 

“So… you didn’t deny it?” Yuri asked. Otabek drew back, looking shocked.

 

“Did you expect me to?” Otabek asked. He looked as if Yuri’s question had been the most upsetting part of the evening. Yuri didn’t respond. Otabek sat quietly for a moment as if contemplating what to say. “Do you plan to?”

 

Yuri realized in that moment that he could, in fact, deny it. A coverup would be the easiest thing in the world. He could say that he wasn’t moving in with Otabek or dating him - just that he was helping a friend to move in. The press would die down if he publicly denied the allegations. Otabek’s eyes bored past his own and into his mind. For a second, Yuri felt as if Otabek could almost see his thoughts, and he instantly felt an incredible load of shame.

 

Viktor’s words echoed in his head: _“I managed to keep that part of my life quiet, but I stopped caring what other people thought… I wish I did that earlier, but I just wasn’t ready to accept myself until I found someone who made me realize that my emotions and desires were more valuable to my life than other’s opinions.”_

 

Yuri could already picture the future headlines and hear reporter’s questions shouted in demanding voices in his voicemail. But, much more significant than that, Yuri could envision his grandfather disappointed frown.

 

_“I hope it’s worth it to you.”_

It had been worth it to come out to Otabek: the days and nights spent in his company were nothing short of divine. This time, Yuri wasn’t facing a person he had known for two years in a private cafe. He was in the eye of the world.

 

 _“I hope it’s worth it to you.”_  

 

Otabek was unlike anyone Yuri had ever met. With him, Yuri was so free and light and infinite. Without his noticing, Otabek had slipped quietly into his life and started to hang all the stars in his sky.

 

 _“I hope it’s worth it to you.”_  

 

It was like Yuri had never seen such dazzling constellations before, like he had never even looked up at the sky at all.

 

 _“I hope it’s worth it to you.”_  

 

Once his eyes had stolen a tiny glimpse of an endless sky, he couldn’t look away.

 

 _“I hope it’s worth it to you.”_  

 

Yuri’s mouth felt dry as he stood up on shaking limps. Otabek turned his previously downwards cast eyes to look back up at Yuri. “No,” he answered. His voice was rough and the words bit at the inside of his throat, but once they had come, there was no stoping the inevitable words that skirted at the very edge of his mind for the past weeks. “I won’t deny it because… I can’’t.” It was his turn to look at the floor.

 

“Yuri?” Otabek asked.

 

“Goddammit, Otabek,” he breathed, finally looking up. “I’m so fucking in love with you I can’t see straight.” Yuri only loved one other person. The confession felt like fire spreading through him. “I know that we haven’t been together for that long, but I-“ Otabek crossed the space between them in a half second and kissed Yuri with such intensity that he felt as if he might bust apart. Yuri let his phone slip from his fingers and bounce onto the floor and used his free hand to grab at Otabek, eager for his touch. Otabek pulled away. There was more emotion on his face than he ever saw.

 

“Yura-“ he mumbled, then jerked Yuri’s body to touch his once again. Yuri felt Otabek’s heart pounding in unison with his own. “I love you too.” Otabek’s mouth covered his once again. They flipped positions and Yuri was pressed into the counter behind him.

 

He was more overwhelmed than he ever had been in his life.There was still the rush of his mind repeating again and again the thought that he just declared his love for his boyfriend, _holy shit_ , and even more importantly, that his boyfriend loved him back and they were living together and he felt more whole and accepted than he ever did before. His day was unrelenting because at the same time, his senses were in overdrive as Otabek ravaged any remaining capacity for clear thought he had left with his expertly placed and executed kisses and roaming hands.

 

Yuri flung himself fully into the moment. His brain buzzed at the warm taste of Otabek, the velvet feel of his soft lips and the musky and alluring smell of his aftershave. To make up for lost time, Yuri started to jerk at Otabek’s clothes.

 

“Yuri,’ Otabek hummed in his ear. The voice made his hair stand on end and electric shivers coursed down his spine. “Couch?” Yuri nodded, unable to find words. Only breaking slightly, Otabek started to direct their entangled bodies to the living room. On the floor, Yuri’s phone began buzzing insistently. He snapped out of his love-drunk stupor immediately.

 

“Otabek,” he mumbled, “I have to take that call.” Agreeable as always, Otabek pulled back. “It’s my grandpa,” he explained weakly. The damn phones were going to keep him from ever getting laid. Yuri picked it up from the floor and answered quickly.

 

“Hi, Grandpa,” he said. Any hint of his prior account had vanished from his voice. “Is everything okay? You don’t usually call this late…”

 

His grandpa’s voice came from the other side of the phone, gruff as always, but still incredibly familiar and warm. “Oh, I’m fine. Actually, I’m calling to ask about you. Yakov said you would be calling today because you had some news.”

 

For a split second, Yuri saw red. Why would Yakov say something like that if he knew Yuri wasn’t ready to talk? But then Yuri remembered the headlines. If he didn’t tell his grandfather, someone else would. It was the perfect - and perhaps last -opportunity Yuri had to tell his grandfather himself.

 

“Yeah, actually…” Yuri started. Otabek had wandered into a different room to offer some privacy, but Yuri still chose to step outside onto the small balcony. The chilly wind seeped beneath his skin and into his bones.

 

“Is everything okay?” Nikolai asked.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” Yuri admitted. On the street below, a woman walked briskly while pushing a stroller. No snow had fallen yet during the day, but old snow that had turned grey and mushy formed small banks along the edges of the streets. Thin layers of ice covered the sidewalks. Yuri realized that he was quiet for a moment and that he was probably worrying his grandfather. “I moved out of Lilia’s apartment,” he announced.

 

The voice on the line sounded concerned but unbudging. “Why, was everything okay there?”

 

“Yeah, I just thought that with the emancipation, I would be moving out soon anyways and… I got an offer from someone.”

 

“That makes sense. So who did you move in with?”

 

Yuri took a deep breath. “My partner.”

 

“What? Partner? I didn’t know you were with anyone. Say, is it that older, tall, redheaded girl at your arena? Or is it that petite brunette?”

 

“Neither of them, no.”

 

“Who is she, then? Do I know her?”

 

Yuri stepped up to the edge of the balcony and wrapped his hand around the ice cold wrought iron there. The solidity of it grounded him. “It’s another skater, you’ve probably seen them in the competition videos,” Yuri bit his lip at the final moment. “His name is Otabek Altin.” There was silence on the other side of the line for a moment. Yuri inhaled a chest full of the frigid air.

 

“I see,” he said at last. “So, this makes you…?”

 

“Yes,” Yuri agreed breathlessly.

 

“And you’re living with this Otabek now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“When can I meet him?” Yuri exhaled the biggest breath of his life. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes.

 

“Whenever you’d like, grandpa.”

 

“Bring him down to Moscow sometime soon. I want to meet my grandson’s first partner.”

 

“Da, grandpa,” Yuri whispered. There was no great acceptance speech or reaction and he could hear a measure of guarded measure in his grandpa’s voice. Butwhat was important was that Nikolai didn’t seem to disapprove. While he didn’t seem entirely warm about the concept, he certainly wasn’t showing any massively negative reaction. That was enough for then, at least. Yuri hung over the side of the balcony for a moment in an attempt to quell the emotion searing through him.

 

“I should go to bed now, Yura. Will you call tomorrow?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good night.”

 

“Good night, grandpa.”

 

Yuri lowered his phone and hit the red button to end the call. He let the hand hang over the balcony as the screen of his phone faded to black. When he exhaled heavily, his breath was visible in the air. A few moments, Otabek stepped outside.

 

“Is everything okay?” he asked carefully.

 

Yuri turned around and slipped his phone into the pocket of his jeans. Tears still burned at the corners of his eyes. He nearly wiped them away with his hand before realizing that doing so would only draw more attention. Otabek still saw them, because of course he did. He took a few steps closer. “Yura?”

 

“Everything is great, actually,” he said with a growing smile.

 

“Oh,” Otabek said, still apprehensive.

 

Yuri didn’t feel like waiting any longer. He walked to Otabek and threw his arms around him to pull him into a tight hug. Otabek responded immediately. His strong arms enclosed Yuri in the most comforting way possible. Yuri let his head fall and come to rest in the crook of Otabek’s neck. “It’s been a day,” Yuri mumbled, “But I’m glad it all happened.”

 

“Me, too,” Otabek agreed. He held Yuri for a moment more. “You’re freezing, Yura. We should get you inside. I made you some tea.” Yuri nodded. His hands were almost numb and his face was surely bright red from the biting wind. Yuri let Otabek lead him back inside to the warmth of their apartment.

 

He drank the tea on the couch, savoring the warmth of the liquid as it thawed his frozen body. Yuri felt himself slipping into sleep as he sat pressed against Otabek. He put his empty tea cup somewhere on the floor beside the couch and flopped out across his boyfriend’s lap.

 

Their apartment was stuffed with boxes of varying sizes and randomly placed pieces of half-built IKEA furniture. Yuri looked up at Otabek as his hand tangled in his hair. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy and he knew that sleep would come soon.

 

“Big change from Lilia’s, right?” Otabek asked.

 

“Mm,” Yuri agreed, “It’s much more luxurious here.”


End file.
